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LORD BOUNTIFUL 


FATHER FINN'S FAMOUS STORIES 

Each volume with a Frontispiece, net, $1.00 Postage 10c. 

Lord Bountiful 
On the Run 
Bobby in Movieland 
Facing Danger 

His Luckiest Year. A Sequel to “Lucky Bob” 
But Thy Love and Thy Grace 
Lucky Bob 

Percy Wynn ; or, Making a Boy of Him 
Tom Playfair; or, Making a Start 
Harry Dee; or Working It Out 
Claude Lightfoot; or, How the Problem Was 
Solved 

Ethelred Preston ; or, The Adventures of a 
Newcomer 

That Football Game; and What Came of It 

That Office Boy 

Cupid of Campion 

The Fairy of the Snows 

The Best Foot Forward; and Other Stories 

Mostly Boys. Short Stories 

His First and Last Appearance. 

























n v . 

* i i ■ 













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He had the two inside the station house so expedi¬ 
tiously that no one but the two boys took the least 
notice. {Page 134 ) 










J 

Lord Bountiful 


BY 


J 


FRANCIS J. flNN, S.J. 

Author of "Percy Wynn," "Tom Playfair," "Harry Dee." etc. 



New York, Cincinnati, Chicago 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 

Publishers of Benziger’s Magazine 

1923 
















/ 


IV' 



Copyright 1923, by Benziger Brothers 


j 



Printed in the United States of America 























A. M. D. G. 















CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. An Interrupted Swim ... 9 

II. Joe Dowling.20 

III. Louis Davico .36 

IV. The Troubles of the Dowling 

Family.43 

V. Marie Dowling, Flapper . . 57 

VI. A Fast, a Feast and a Knocking 

at the Door ...... 66 

VII. Colonel Bridwell .... 73 

VIII. Marie at Her Best .... 80 

IX. Joe and Julia Stage a Play . 91 

X. The Little Flower Sends a Few 

Boses .109 

XI. Joe and Louis Become Detec¬ 
tives .123 

XII. Joe Is Rewarded.137 

XIII. Introducing the Delightful 

Dr. Fee .145 

XIV. The Beginning of an Eventful 

Day .157 

vii 








CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XV. Introducing a Real Flapper and 
the Worst Type of Lounge Liz¬ 
ard . 166 


XVI. Marie Dowling in the Great 

Crisis of Her Life .... 182 

XVII. The End of an Eventful Day 203 

XVIII. Lord Bountiful in a Supreme 


Moment. 210 

XIX. Joe and Marie Go to Xew York 222 
XX. A Shower of Roses .... 229 




LORD BOUNTIFUL 


CHAPTER I 

AN INTERRUPTED SWIM 

“/^h! there he is again. I wonder whether 
he is coming to see me!” 

The young miss who thus exclaimed, 
sprang away from the third floor window, out 
of which she had been leaning for fully a quarter 
of an hour, hastened to a small looking-glass, 
gave a dab to her bobbed hair, slipped into her 
ears a pair of long earrings, ran a lip-stick oyer 
her lips, pinched her cheeks into an added red¬ 
ness, fastened a brooch upon her collar, and, as 
she dashed down the stairs, powdered her nose— 
all in less time than it takes me to set it down 
on paper. 

The cause of this commotion was the appear¬ 
ance on Baum Street of an uncommonly cheer¬ 
ful young man who appeared to be about twenty- 
four years of age. He was oyer six feet in height, 
carried himself with an erectness which gave 
him the air of a soldier, moved with the ease of 
a gymnast, and smiled in a way that won him 
the hearts of children on sight. As a matter of 
fact, several groups of little ones engaged in 
different games dissolved on his appearance, 


10 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


and with various cries of joy and welcome re¬ 
united about him. 

“Hurrah !” cried a small boy, “here comes Lord 
Bountiful again.” 

Lord Bountiful shook hands with each and 
every one of them—and there were fully thirty 
on hand—and, to the delight of the youngsters, 
called most of them by their first names. Within 
three months he had appeared on Baum Street 
three several times, leaving after each visit a 
host of friends. On the first occasion, he won 
the children’s hearts by his engaging smile and 
his kind questions; on the second, he had bought 
cones of ice-cream for all present; on the third, 
about one month before, he had regaled his ar¬ 
dent followers with chocolate caramels. He was 
none the less loved that he was unknown. He 
was something of a mystery, and mystery ap¬ 
peals to the childish heart. No one had the least 
idea of his occupation, his residence or his name. 
He never spoke of himself; in fact, he had little 
opportunity to do so; for each child opened his 
little heart with enthusiasm to this kind and 
sympathetic friend. It was Joe Dowling, aged 
twelve, who had fixed upon him the name of 
Lord Bountiful. 

The young girl, Marie Dowling, who had now 
reached the pavement, did not take part in the 
juvenile rush. She walked primly past the 
struggling boys and girls, nearly all of whom 
were anxious to catch Lord Bountiful’s hands or 
coat, and threw at him what, from some consid¬ 
erable study at various mirrors, she considered 
a bewitching glance; but as Lord Bountiful, at 
that moment, was tossing a crowing two-year- 


AN INTERRUPTED SWIM 11 

old infant high in air, the fatal dart failed to 
reach him. Marie Dowling, sister of Joe, hav¬ 
ing missed her mark, paused, repowdered her 
little nose, retraced her steps and, as she passed 
the center of attraction, turned her head and 
shot him a backward glance in the best manner 
of her present heroine of the screen, Bebe Dan¬ 
iels. Another flower wasted on the desert air. 
Lord Bountiful was holding two cherubs aloft, 
with three enterprising youngsters climbing his 
back. 

Marie, nothing daunted, turned once more, 
and, standing where she turned, fixed her gaze 
upon the young man, ready, once she caught his 
eye, to transfix him with a baby stare illuminated 
by a fetching smile. But this was not to be. In 
the group was a younger sister of hers, Julia, 
a girl of fourteen, who, just then happening to 
notice that Marie was setting herself to do some¬ 
thing stagey, artlessly put a stop to further 
posing. 

“Say, Marie,” she drawled in a clear voice, 
“where did you get those earrings? They are 
sister Peggy’s, and you know she said—” 

What sister Peggy said will never pass into 
history; for Marie, forgetting Bebe Daniels and 
baby stares, rushed at Julia and catching her 
by the arm was about to give the struggling child 
a good shake spiced with a piece of her mind, 
when Lord Bountiful in his rich voice said, 
“Why, if it isn’t my old friend, Marie Dowling!” 
At which words, Marie’s hand, raised to inflict 
condign chastisement upon Julia, suddenly lost 
speed and force and settled butterfly-like and 
caressingly upon Julia’s curls, while her cheeks 


12 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


colored into a vivid red, and her clear blue eyes 
danced in a sweet accompaniment to the tune of 
a smile which, being unstudied, was really beau¬ 
tiful. Marie, it is true, was a flapper; but still, 
youth and innocence had not utterly vanished. 
Also, it must be confessed, she was sensitive to 
attention. She was deeply in love with love. 

Julia, who had braced herself for a blow and 
a scolding, was very much astonished indeed, as 
Marie, caressing her younger sister’s hair with 
one hand and entwining her waist with the 
other, acknowledged the greeting with, “Oh, 
Lord Bountiful, I’m so glad you’ve come back.” 

“It is a real pleasure to see you again,” cried 
the beaming Lord Bountiful, gently depositing 
the two infants upon the ground and extending 
the hand of welcome. And Marie, reacting to 
this love and kindness and forgetting Bebe Dan¬ 
iels and all the “Movie Queens,” and the little 
airs and devices of a flapperhood hardly two 
months old, rushed forward with dancing eyes, 
eyes shining with love, and almost threw her¬ 
self into his arms. Marie, for the moment, was 
a little child once more. 

“And where is your brother Joe?” asked Lord 
Bountiful, holding Marie’s hands in his own. 

Marie was about to reply, when a shout and 
a yell startled all, and drew their eyes toward 
the lower end of Baum Street, which sloped 
sharply down in the direction of the Ohio River. 

“Gee! There’s trouble!” said a small boy. 

Up the hill, in various stages of undress, toiled 
pantingly six boys. Their hair was wet, their 
shirts unbuttoned, three were carrying their 
shoes under their arms, two were holding their 


AN INTERRUPTED SWIM 13 

clothes to keep them from falling off; while one 
was waving wildly a shirt, which evidently he 
had had no time to put on. 

“Aha!” said Lord Bountiful, “they’ve been 
disturbed at their swimming. But halloa! 
what’s this?” he continued, breaking into a grin. 
As he thus ejaculated, the little crowd about him 
broke into a chorus of thrilled yells and screams; 
for suddenly, some thirty yards behind the last 
of the runners, there came into view a youth 
whose simple apparel consisted exclusively of 
a gunny-sack, slit sufficiently to allow his head 
through, and short enough to display quite lib¬ 
erally a pair of rapidly moving legs. 

“Cheese it! The cops!” panted the boy who 
was leading the retreat. 

There were no bad consciences in the attentive 
crowd. No one sought shelter. Lord Bountiful 
now stepped forward and took command. 

“Get together, children, all of you. Make a 
close crowd. Girls behind. Boys in front. 
Here, Marie, rush out a pitcher of water quick. 
Boys, unbutton your shirts.” 

Lord Bountiful now had the air of an army 
officer. At his word the crowd formed, the boys 
unbuttoned their shirts, a few, catching the 
idea, pulling them off, while Marie, reaching 
through an open window on the ground floor of 
the house in the third story of which she her¬ 
self lived, brought out a pitcher filled almost to 
the brim. Lord Bountiful, relaxing to reward 
her with a smile, which set the girl’s heart into 
a mild rapture, took it from her hands, and at 
once doused the heads of all the boys. 


14 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“Do this,” he enjoined them. He puffed rap¬ 
idly, his month open. 

The boys of Baum Street understood. What a 
jolly idea! They puffed, they panted, they 
gasped. One would think they had each and 
every one been running in a Marathon. Return¬ 
ing the pitcher to Marie, who promptly put it 
back through the window, Lord Bountiful 
stepped in front of the panting youths just in 
time to arrest in his course the leading runner. 

“Get into line with that crowd,” he com¬ 
manded. As this order was supplemented by a 
strong grasp which swung the astonished youth 
over to the panting boys, there was no chance for 
argument. In a few moments, Lord Bountiful, 
not without pride, was gazing upon a line of 
boys, all open-breasted, many without their 
outer shirts, several holding their shoes 1 and 
stockings in their hands, and all panting as 
though their hearts were pounding within. 

Every one of the hunted lads was now pro¬ 
vided for, so Lord Bountiful reckoned, except 
the young gentleman whose person was adorned 
by the gunny-sack. He was now quite near. 
One could hear his choked breathing. He was 
a boy of about twelve, freckled, brown-eyted, 
chubby-nosed, and, at this moment, open- 
mouthed and highly excited. 

“Why, it’s Joe Dowling!” cried several. There 
was the note of scandal in their voices. 

“Oh, won’t he get it!” said Marie to a com¬ 
panion. “He promised Mother this morning not 
to go swimming in the river.” Having made 
this observation, Marie bent a look of inquiry 
on Lord Bountiful. 


AN INTERRUPTED SWIM 15 

Just then a low murmur passed through the 
crowd. 

“There’s the cop,” whispered one. 

“Aw, shucks! Can you beat it?” put in an¬ 
other. “It’s Killjoy.” 

“Killjoy!!” moaned the crowd with sinking 
hearts. The panting on the part of a few be¬ 
came real. 

“Killjoy” was a title bestowed by the appre¬ 
ciative youth of that section upon Officer Smith. 
He did not understand children. If any article 
in the policeman’s Manual gave him the guise of 
authority, he was prompt to stop their games 
and sports. He seemed to have an idea that 
merriment and hilarity were in fact, or con¬ 
structively, against the laws of city, county, 
state and country. Officer Smith, be it noted, 
was in no wise a representative of the Cincin¬ 
nati police force. In the opinion of the best 
youthful judges, he should have been keeper of 
a morgue or nurse in a pesthouse. And now 
there he was, running up the hill. Killjoy was 
rather portly. His days of sprinting were ap¬ 
parently over. Nevertheless, up the hill he lum¬ 
bered with a devotion worthy of a better cause. 

“Be ready, girls,” whispered Lord Bountiful, 
having first by an uplifted finger demanded and 
secured perfect quiet and attention, “to slip 
Joe Dowling behind you. If you’re not careful, 
the policeman will catch him. In you go, Joe,” , 
he continued, as the gunny-sacked youth came 
within his reach. 

One girl of about twelve, in the back row 
nearest the window so convenient to the water- 
pitcher, having received some whispered instruc- 


16 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


tions from Marie, slipped away, giving place to 
Joe Dowling, who, strange to say, once his hand 
touched Lord Bountiful’s, seemed to regain cour¬ 
age and wind. 

The scene was now set. Twenty boys with 
excessively solemn faces, and with an exhibition 
of teeth that would have been intensely inter¬ 
esting to a young dentist, panted and gurgled 
as though they were in the last stages of exhaus¬ 
tion. A good priest, had he been present, would 
have been edified by the display of medals, scapu¬ 
lars and badges of the Sacred Heart. 

Looking upon all this not without conscious 
pride, Lord Bountiful whispered: 

‘•Fine work! Just keep it up till I tell you 
to stop. Now, girls, keep your positions.” 

There were a few moments of waiting, all eyes 
meantime turned on the guardian of the law. 
In two respects, this official surpassed the boys. 
He was really out of breath, far more than the 
most winded of these, and he was stertorous in 
his expression of this condition. 

“Good afternoon, officer,” said Lord Bounti¬ 
ful with a vast smile, in answer to which the 
officer panted at him, and, attempting to close 
his mouth, began to choke. Thinking better of 
it, he opened his mouth once more, and, turn¬ 
ing, panted at all the lines of children. 

Young people, as everybody knows, are much 
given to imitation. Little Rosamond Egan, 
much impressed by the efforts of the boys, 
opened her fair mouth and panted, too. Her 
little neighbors followed her lead. In a moment 
every mouth was opened, and the policeman 
found himself gazing upon a sight seldom 


AN INTERRUPTED SWIM 


IT 


granted to men of his uniform. The only per¬ 
son on the immediate scene who breathed regu¬ 
larly and held his lips together was Lord Bounti¬ 
ful. And so, for a period of at least sixty sec¬ 
onds, the policeman panted at the children; the 
children panted at the representative of the law. 

The situation had become comic, so it seemed 
to Mr. Patrick McKane, who from a window 
across the street had been gazing on the group, 
in which there happened to be five of his eight 
children. Patrick had a laugh which, in its way, 
was as good as Lord Bountiful’s smile. It rang 
out just now, clear and joyous. And then from 
a hundred windows—by this time crowded with 
spectators—came a chorus of cachinnations. 
The effect upon the officer was almost instan¬ 
taneous. He closed his mouth, turning purple 
in the act, raised his head, and glared at the 
children, who, eyeing him sadly, panted with 
fresh vigor. 

“Let those of you who were swimming behind 
that house-boat with little or nothing on, step 
out,” he gasped. 

“Pick them out yourself, Officer,” suggested 
Lord Bountiful. “Anyhow, weren’t they swim¬ 
ming where no one could see them?” 

“It’s again’ the law,” protested the officer. 

“Against the letter, yes,” conceded the Lord, 
“but not against the spirit. I’ve seen that house¬ 
boat, and I know where these boys swim. Oh, 
have a heart.” 

“Sure, I have a heart,” answered the police¬ 
man, putting a large hand to that portion of his 
anatomy where, somewhat incorrectly, he fan¬ 
cied that organ to be. 


18 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


Hereupon a bright little girl giggled. Other 
bright girls followed her example and, before 
you could say Jack Robinson, everybody broke 
into a burst of giggles as musical as the Chimes 
of Normandy. 

Lord Bountiful raised a warning finger. That 
gesture was enough. With a suddenness that 
was startling, every mouth opened again and the 
panting pantomime was functioning once more. 

“Well,” said the officer, after a pause, “Fll let 
everybody go except that little imp who ran 
three squares with nothing on, and then stole 
a gunny-sack from a Commission store and cut 
an opening in it with his teeth for his head. 
He’s a thief.” 

“Hold on, Officer,” remonstrated Lord Boun¬ 
tiful, trying to stay him from pushing into the 
rows of girls. “The boy is no thief: He’s a sense 
of decency. I’ll pay you for that—” 

He did not finish his sentence; for the officer 
rudely brushing past him made his way straight 
for the place where he had seen Joe Dowling 
hide himself. The girls stood aside with an 
alacrity which, to a cooler man than Killjoy, 
might have aroused suspicion. 

There was no one clad in a gunny-sack to be 
seen—nothing but panting girls. 

The policeman scratched his head. What had 
become of the boy in the gunny-sack? He could 
not have climbed into the window without being 
seen. It was a mystery. 

“Oh, let it go at that!” cried Lord Bountiful, 
slipping a silver dollar into the other’s hand. 
“Here, Officer, take a cigar, and here’s a quarter 
for the Commission house.” 


AN INTERRUPTED SWIM 


19 


“He’s the meanest man on the force,” whis¬ 
pered one of the real bathers to his neighbors. 
“He’s down on boys. They say that Mike Mul¬ 
len is going to get him off this beat.” 

The boy was right. Officer Smith, when last 
heard of, and before he disappeared into a fit¬ 
ting obscurity, was patrolling a beat where chil¬ 
dren were as rare as December roses. 

The feel of the silver piece had a salutary ef¬ 
fect upon Smith. He relaxed into something 
that looked like a smile, touched his hat, and, 
frowning at the children, hastened down the 
street. 

“Mouths closed!” ordered Lord Bountiful. 
“Regular respiration. Good! Well, what in 
the world became of Joe Dowling?” 

Out from the crowd tripped a lass with beau¬ 
tiful chestnut curls, large gray eyes, who was 
in a white dress trimmed with blue and en¬ 
circled by a blue sash. She was the loveliest 
girl present. Lord Bountiful started, on seeing 
her. 

“Say, Lady Jane,” he exclaimed, as the child 
caught his hand, “I’m good at faces, but I can’t 
remember yours.” 

“Please, sir,” said the sweet child, “I’m Joe 
Dowling,” saying which, she pulled off the wig, 
and was himself again. 


CHAPTER II 


JOE DOWLING 

“\\T BY ’ ^ oe ^ ow ^ n S* How did you do it?” 

VV cried Lord Bountiful, clasping the 
hands of the youth, whose face had 
flushed into the redness of an angry cloud in 
a stormy sunset. 

“Aw, gosh!” growled Joe, conscious of the 
amusement which he was creating among his 
pals. “Let me get out of this thing,” he contin¬ 
ued, casting the eye of scorn and contempt upon 
the dress he was wearing. 

“And,” said his sister Marie, having taken 
advantage of her brother’s apparition to powder 
her nose and give her wide-spreading bobbed 
hair a few pats, “what are you going to get into? 
Where are your clothes, you bad, bad boy?” 

“I ain’t, neither,” protested Joe, absently try¬ 
ing to put his hands into his pockets—an im¬ 
possible task, but provoking a ripple of laugh¬ 
ter from the crowd. “My shirt was torn to 
pieces in a— in a— accident, and when I tried 
to grab up my pants, they just slipped into the 
river, and I didn’t have time to go in after them. 
That old Killjoy was standing over me, just 
ready to grab me.” 

“How did you get away, Joe?” she asked. 

“I slipped between his legs, and lit out.” 

“And you mean to say you got away with 
20 


JOE DOWLING 


21 


that?” asked Lord Bountiful, highly interested. 

“It was all luck,” answered Joe. “He was 
coming down on me running. He was just a few 
feet away. I made a sort of a dive, and one of 
my legs got tangled up in one of his. That 
spilled him all right, and I kept right on, while 
he was picking himself up. I never ran so fast 
in all my life.” 

“But where’s that gunny-sack?” continued the 
Lord. 

“It’s under this dress,” answered Joe, reveal¬ 
ing to a multitude of admiring eyes the impro¬ 
vised petticoat, “and it itches like anything.” 

“It was Jennie Jones,” explained Marie, “who 
left her place to Joe and slipped into her own 
room and got the dress. I told her to.” 

“Yes,” said Jennie, stepping into the lime¬ 
light. “It fits him beautifully.” 

This remark was received with much enthu¬ 
siasm by all present, with the notable exception 
of the unhappy youth wearing it, whose face 
took on the expression of one out of whose life 
joy and happiness had fled forever. 

“And,” continued Jennie, beaming with the 
importance of her revelations, “I just happened 
to have that wig, which I should have returned 
to the costumers today. You see, I appeared in 
a song last night at our Moving Pitcher Show. 
So I took that along, too. And when I got back 
here I sneaked on hands and knees all the way 
between the boys and girls and dressed Joe my¬ 
self. And didn’t he look sweet!” 

The horrible frown which now came upon 
Joe’s face was at the opposite pole of sweet¬ 
ness, while the glances which he threw upon the 


22 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


admiring Jennie Jones should have turned her 
to stone on the spot. 

“Hurrah for the peerless beauty of Baum 
Street,” volunteered Jimmie Jones, the brother 
of the fair Jennie, as he sidled up to the almost 
apoplectic Joe and tenderly chucked him under 
the chin. Being a prudent youth, he lost no 
time in slipping out of reach of the peerless 
beauty. And he went none too soon, for Joe 
aimed a kick at him which had it reached its 
mark would have sent young Jones sprawling. 
But it did miss by the fraction of an inch, the 
result being that Joe gave a very correct imi¬ 
tation of a star football player in the act of 
punting a football for publicity. On the whole, 
it was quite unladylike. Also, it struck the at¬ 
tentive crowd, now considerably swelled by the 
Ellen Street gang, and a few denizens of Ore¬ 
gon Street, as being decidedly comical. They 
roared and shouted and screamed, to all of 
which Joe responded by shaking an impotent 
but furious fist. It is a wonder that the young 
gentleman did not blow up. So apoplectic had 
his features become that Lord Bountiful stepped 
forward, determined to put an end to these tor¬ 
tures. Poor Joe was being butchered to make 
a Baum Street holiday. 

“Come,” he whispered, “be a man, Joe.” 

“Man,” gulped the boy. “Do I look like a 
man?” 

“We’ll have to get you out of these clothes,” 
continued his big friend. 

“I—I—haven’t got any others,” stammered 
the unhappy lad. 

“What!!” 


JOE DOWLING 


23 


“My other shirt is getting washed. And that 
—that’s all I’ve got, ’cept a pair of old shoes 
and two pairs of stockings.” 

Before Lord Bountiful could recover himself 
to say something appropriate to this unusual sit¬ 
uation, Louis Davico, an Italian youth of about 
the same age and size as Joe, came at a run 
straight upon the wearer of skirt and gunny- 
sack. In his hands, he held a neatly-tied pack¬ 
age. 

“Say, Joe,” he said, “my mother told me to 
give you this. It’s a suit of clothes and things 
like that. And Joe,” he added in a lower voice, 
“she says she’s much obliged.” 

The handsome olive-complexioned lad said all 
this quickly, awkwardly and with a hangdog 
air. And yet, as he handed the package to Joe, 
he gave him a look which was meek and kindly. 
“Please, take it, Joe,” he said. 

Louis Davico had been one of the swimmers. 
There was one other circumstance connected 
with that interrupted swim, known only at that 
time to those who were engaged in that pastime, 
which, as Louis made his speech, was spread al¬ 
most instantaneously from ear to ear among 
the boys present. The news was this: 

“The two had a fight just before the swim, 
and Joe knocked Louis silly in less than five 
minutes.” 

It was also known to all who were not infants 
in arms that there had for a long time existed 
a misunderstanding between Louis and Joe. 
They were rivals in sport and leaders of oppos¬ 
ing gangs. Hence, this public presentation was 
a new development in the events of a highly- 


24 


LOED BOUNTIFUL 


exciting day. Three cheers rang out as though 
they were preconcerted; and when Joe, ceasing 
to look altogether apoplectic, broke into a smile, 
and, catching Louis’s hand, shook it warmly, 
there was a vociferous “tiger.” 

“Say,” said young Jones to a companion, “do 
you know what that means?” 

“What?” 

“Why, it means that Davico’s crowd and Joe’s 
are going to run together from now on.” 

“Wha-a-a-at!” drawled the other. 

Truly on that afternoon in early July history 
was in making on Baum Street. 

In the meantime, Lord Bountiful had not been 
idle. Smiling affably, surrounded by children, 
most of whom were vying with each other to 
hold his hand, his eyes took in everything. Not 
a face escaped him. Nor did he confine his at¬ 
tention to those who thronged the pleasant old 
street, which, situated half-way up the steep 
hill commonly known as Mount Adams, was to 
a large extent cut off from the vast city below. 
Occasionally his head was raised. Had he been 
asked by the proper persons, he could have told 
them that at the window of a third floor oppo¬ 
site him there appeared occasionally the faces 
of three men—dark-faced men—one fully 
bearded, two with fierce black moustaches. On 
being further interrogated, he could have de¬ 
scribed all three, feature by feature; for Lord 
Bountiful had an eye which little or nothing 
escaped. In fact, had not Lord Bountiful been 
wanting to obtain full details concerning the 
men in that window, he would long since have 


JOE DOWLING 25 

rescued Joe from Ms intensely awkward situa¬ 
tion. 

“Come on, Joe,” lie now said, having in one 
swift glance taken in that third story window 
with its occupants again, “you must get yourself 
out of that costume at once.” And Lord Boun¬ 
tiful, taking Joe by one hand, Julia by the 
other, preceded by Eileen and Frank Dowling, 
two younger members of the family, marched 
into the doorway and up the steps; whereupon 
the crowd broke up more quickly than it had 
formed; so quickly indeed, that by the time 
Lord Bountiful had set foot on the suite of four 
rooms rented by the Dowling family the street 
was practically empty. 

He was in the sitting-room. It would have 
taken a sharp eye to discover that there were 
two beds in full view. One bit of furniture 
looked like a lounge; another looked like a ward¬ 
robe. At night, these two articles were thrown 
open and revealed themselves beds. 

“Just excuse me one minute, sir,” said Joe, 
“while I go into the next room and change.” 

“Fll help you, Joe,” volunteered Marie, offer¬ 
ing at the same time to relieve him of the pack¬ 
age. 

“You will!” snarled Joe indignantly. “Like 
fun you wdll. Think I’m a baby? What you 
want to see is these new clothes of mine. You 
ought to be ashamed of yourself.” 

“Marie,” drawled Julia, “alw r ays was a rub¬ 
berneck—especially about clothes.” 

Joe, as Julia thus calmly analyzed her sister, 
shut himself in the adjoining room. Marie was 
of two minds: she was thinking of breaking in 


26 


LOKD BOUNTIFUL 


upon her younger brother and having it out 
with him then and there; but also, it seemed 
proper to her to make a few scathing comments 
upon the direct and unadorned statement of 
Julia. Catching the smiling eyes of Lord Boun¬ 
tiful fixed upon her, she thought better of either 
course; a fleeting glimpse in the mirror brought 
her to see how tragic she looked. She reacted 
at once to her appearance. Throwing her eyes 
toward heaven and clasping her hands, she ad¬ 
dressed an invisible audience—presumably the 
nine choirs of angels. 

“How bitterly I am misunderstood,” she 
ejaculated. 

Lord Bountiful was much affected. He 
turned toward the window looking across the 
street—giving him, he noticed, a very fine view 
of the window which he had paid special atten¬ 
tion to while on the street, put his hands to his 
face, and shook with emotion. “Was he weep¬ 
ing?” Marie asked herself. But she was given 
no time to ponder the question; for Julia, noth¬ 
ing moved by this dramatic outburst, and con¬ 
tinuing to gaze calmly at her elder sister, 
opened her judicial mouth and in tones that 
were at once clear and severe declared: 

“Marie, you got that out of the moving pic¬ 
ture you saw at the Walnut week before last. 
It was Nasty Mova who said that and posed 
like you.” 

There is every reason to suppose that Julia 
had in mind that utterly tragic star of the 
Movie World, Nazimova; but what’s in a name? 

“Julia Dowling,” cried Marie, raising the 
index finger of her right hand and pointing it 


JOE DOWLING 27 

at her prosaic sister, “once more, I warn yon— 
solemnly warn you—” 

“Hi! Hi!” broke in seven-year-old Frank in 
a shrill tremolo which put an end at once to the 
deep and solemn voice of Marie. “Sister Marie 
thinks she’s going to be a Movie Queen. She 
said that if her hair was blacker, she’d look 
just like Baby Daniels.” 

Marie’s jaw dropped; she glared helplessly at 
the young hope of the Dowling family, who was 
beaming guilelessly with the joy of having made 
an important announcement. 

“She did say it,” put in Eileen, the smaller 
girl. 

“Eileen Dowling,” cried Marie, “how can you 
say such a thing?” 

“I don’t see,” announced Julia with a slow 
drawl, and with her eyes fixed calmly on her 
hotly flushing sister, “how she can say anything 
else. The night before last at supper, you did 
say it, and then you went and said that your 
teacher, Sister Catherine, said in class that 
some day you would be a Movie Queen. And I 
asked a lot of the girls in your class, and they 
said that Sister Catherine said that you wanted 
to be a Movie Queen. And that’s different. 
You didn’t talk that way up to Christmas, when 
you used to go to Communion every morning. 
Lord Bountiful,” she added, “I go to Commun¬ 
ion every day.” 

“You do?” exclaimed the young man, still ap¬ 
parently trying to choke down his emotion. 

“Yes; and so does Eileen. It’s a good thing. 
It keeps a girl from getting silly.” 

“My teacher,” added Eileen, with enthusiasm, 


28 LORD BOUNTIFUL 

“says that girls nowadays get soap—soap— 
soap-” 

“Get soap?” queried the man. 

“She wants to say sophisticated,” put in Julia 
gravely. 

“That’s it,” said Eileen gratefully. “They get 
soph—you know—so easily.” 

“And what does she mean by ‘sophisticated’?” 
asked the young man. 

“Why,” answered Julia, “it means silly. You 
think you know more than the whole family, 
and you don’t like dolls; and you won’t go to 
a party unless there are boys there. And you 
talk about boys most of the time. And—and— 
you make eyes at them. Marie is sophisticated.” 

“Julia Dowling,” said Marie, “when Mother 
comes home, I’ll tell her—” 

“Whoop!” came an exultant voice from the 
adjoining room, the door whereof was synchron¬ 
ously thrown open, revealing on its threshold 
a rosy-cheeked boy clad, as to his face, in smiles, 
and, as to his person, in highly-polished, low- 
cut tan shoes, short socks, white knickerbock¬ 
ers, a white outing shirt liberally striped with 
baby blue, and a tie of green and gold. Master 
Joe Dowling was himself again. 

The family became a unit in their praise of 
their big brother, being as enthusiastic almost 
as Lord Bountiful himself. 

“To think,” said Julia, “of Louis Davico mak¬ 
ing you such a beautiful present as that. Why, 
only yesterday, I am sure he never would have 
thought of such a thing. He hadn’t much love 
for you then.” 

“No more he would,” assented Joe. “Yester- 



JOE DOWLING 29 

day Louie would have said his love with a brick¬ 
bat, but today we’re friends.” 

“It’s about time,” observed Marie tartly; 
“you and he have been going about with chips 
on your shoulders for the last year. It’s a 
shame. You’re a pair of savages.” 

“We ain’t,” growled Joe. “At least I ain’t. 
I was willing to make up, all right. But he got 
mad once, and I couldn’t get him to make up.” 

“What made him mad, Joe?” inquired Lord 
Bountiful. 

“Aw! I just said something.” 

“What did you say?” 

“I called him a name—it wasn’t a bad name: 
I don’t curse.” 

“Joe,” proclaimed Julia in her judicial, drawl¬ 
ing manner, “called him a Dago. And then 
when Louis got mad, he called him a Wop. I 
think it was very unkind, but I don’t see why 
Louis should have bloodied his nose for it. Do 
you, Lord Bountiful?” 

All gazed inquiringly at their big hero. 

“You are right, Julia,” he said slowly. “It 
was very unkind, though I am sure Joe did not 
mean to be unkind. Every decent boy in the 
world is very sensitive about his nationality. If 
he were not, he’d be no good. Suppose, Joe, 
that some boy called you a ‘Mick’.” 

“There’s not a guy would dare to do it,” said 
Joe, doubling his fists and rolling his eyes. 

“You are right, Joe, I do believe. The Irish 
are too strong in this neighborhood. But years 
and years ago when there were not so many 
Irish people in the United States, people 
laughed at them, made fun of them and called 


30 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


them ‘Micks.’ Yon see, there were so few Irish 
and so many of the rest. And so nobody was 
afraid to call the Irish names.” 

“They were cowards,” said Joe. 

“Precisely, Joe: they felt free to call the Irish 
names because they had the strength of num¬ 
bers. How about the little Irish-American boys, 
who are fifty to one, calling little Italians ‘Wops’ 
and ‘Dagos’?” 

“I’m sorry,” said Joe. “I never thought of 
it that way. If Louie loved Italy he ought to 
be mad.” 

“Good! And he ought to love Italy: it is the 
land of his forefathers and a wonderful coun¬ 
try.” 

“I’ll take it back the first chance I get,” said 
Joe. “And I’ll try never to be a coward again.” 

“Then,” suggested Marie tartly, “it would be 
a good idea to stop referring to the Hungarians 
around here as ‘Hunks.’—But how did you and 
Louis come to make up?” 

“Aw—nothing. We just had a little fight, 
and I was kind to him after it was over and so 
we made it up.” 

In vain did all present endeavor to get further 
details. Joe seemed to think that he had al¬ 
ready said too much. 

“Never mind, Mr. Smarty,,” said Marie, baffled 
by the youth’s reticence, “but you’ll get it when 
Mother comes home. Why did you break your 
promise and go in swimming?” 

“I intended to keep my promise,” said Joe. 

“There’s a certain place—a very hot place,” 
observed Marie loftily, “that’s paved with good 


JOE DOWLING 31 

intentions. Mother said she’d spank yon if you 
went in, and you did.” 

“I don’t deserve a spanking,” muttered Joe, 
showing unequivocal symptoms of distress at the 
sad prospect before him. 

“Come here, Joe,” said Lord Bountiful, seat¬ 
ing himself and thereby unseating the two 
younger members of the family, who, however, 
banished from his back, at once got upon his 
knees. 

“Let’s get this thing right,” he continued se¬ 
riously. “Did you tell your mother that you 
would not go in the river?” 

“Yes, sir: I gave her my word.” 

“And did she say she would whip you if you 
went in?” 

“She did,” answered all of the Dowlings there 
present. 

“Mother does not like to whip us,” explained 
Julia serenely. “She seldom does it; and never 
unless we’ve done something real serious. It is 
only since father went to the war and never 
came back that she does any whipping: that’s 
over one year ago. We must be pretty bad to 
get whipped. She hasn’t whipped me yet.” 

“What happened to your father?” 

“He was reported missing sixteen months ago 
today,” Marie made answer. “That’s why we 
all went to Communion for him at six o’clock 
Mass this morning. Joe served it, and he went 
to Communion, too. And after that he goes and 
disobeys Mother in a most serious matter.” 

“Aw!” growled Joe, “you needn’t put on. 
Didn’t you sneak off last week, and go to one 


32 LORD BOUNTIFUL 

of those fool Sheik picture plays? And didn’t 
Mother—” 

“Hold on, Joe/’ broke in Marie. “There’s no 
sense in talking about everything. The thing 
we’re talking about now is your breaking your 
promise.” 

“You see,” explained Julia, “it’s this way, sir. 
Ma works every day, and she says she can’t 
stand being away from home if all of us chil¬ 
dren are running around loose. Now, for in¬ 
stance, last week when Marie went off with a 
bunch of the silliest girls—” 

“Julia,” admonished Marie, “it isn’t proper 
to wash the soiled linen of the family in public.” 

“Well, Joe,” said Lord Bountiful, coming to 
her rescue, “how do you feel about that whip¬ 
ping? If your mother promises to do something, 
she ought to keep her promise, oughtn’t she?” 

“Yes, I guess so, sir.” 

“And you deserve the whipping, don’t you?” 

“I don’t see that, sir.” 

“Oh, you don’t? Didn’t you promise your 
mother you would not go in?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“He did most solemn,” added Frank. “Acrost 
his heart,” suiting the gesture to the phrase. 

“And didn’t she say she considered the mat¬ 
ter so important that she would deem it neces¬ 
sary to whip you if you disobeyed?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Then she ought to give you a whipping.” 

“Oh, that’s different.” 

“Now, Joe, you look like a manly fellow. If 
I’ve sized you up right, you’re brave and hon¬ 
est. It seems to me that we ought to be willing, 


33 


JOE DOWLING 

if we’re brave, to face the music. Of course, it 
isn’t always pleasant. No one likes to be pun¬ 
ished. All the same, if we are brave and just, 
we’ll grin and bear it.” 

“Yes, sir: I don’t want to be a coward. But 
then, you see, I don’t think that I deserve a 
whipping.” 

“But why?” 

For answer Joe hung his head; his counte¬ 
nance quivered. He struggled to control him¬ 
self. But from his lips came no answer. 

At this juncture, the sound of footsteps as¬ 
cending the stairs created a diversion. 

“Hurrah!” cried Frank. “It’s Mother; I know 
her step.” And Frank, followed by Eileen, 
rushed from the room, making their passageway 
musical with joyous shouts of welcome. The 
other children, out of respect for their honored 
guest, contented themselves with turning eager 
and expectant eyes toward the doorway. It was 
easy to see that Mother’s return from work was 
one of the brightest moments in the day. 

As the children flung themselves on the 
mother, a tired, gentle-faced woman, Lord Boun¬ 
tiful’s heart was moved. He felt that he was 
in that very rare thing in this twentieth cen¬ 
tury—a home. 

“Mother,” said Julia when the first violent 
and affectionate manifestations of welcome had 
spent their force, “I think you have never met 
our friend, Lord Bountiful.” 

“Oh, excuse me,” said Mrs. Dowling, turning 
inquiring eyes upon the stranger, “I didn’t see 
you, sir.” 

“I am glad to meet the mother of such lovely 


34 


LOED BOUNTIFUL 


children, Mrs. Dowling,” returned the young 
man. “I owe you an apology for intruding; it 
is not customary. But—but—” Lord Bountiful 
hesitated. 

Frank came bravely to the rescue. 

“He saved Joe from the cops,” he explained. 

“Yes,” supplemented Eileen; “Joe went in 
swimming and the cop got after him and he came 
running up the street in a sack, with his head 
sticking out at one end and his feet at the 
other.” 

“Joe, my boy Joe, did you break your word 
of honor to me and go swimming in the river?” 

The tears came to Joe’s eyes. 

“I—I—couldn’t help it, Mother; I just had 
to go in.” 

“But, Joe, Joe, I thought I could trust my 
boy.” 

“Oh, Mother,” blubbered Joe, “you can.” 

“Mrs. Dowling,” said the young man, “if I 
know anything about boys, I’ll wager anything 
you can trust him.” 

“Thank you, sir: I want to believe you. But, 
my boy, you know what I said? Do you re¬ 
member?” 

“You said you’d give me a spanking.” 

“Well, what do you think about it?” 

. “I’ll tell you what, Mother,” said Joe, wiping 
his eyes, “it’s your duty to spank me but I don’t 
think I ought to be spanked.” Saying which, Joe 
fell to weeping once more. 

“Oh, come, Joe,” said Lord Bountiful kindly, 
“there’s something I don’t understand about 
this. Surely, you are not afraid of a whipping. 
You’re not that kind of a boy.” 


JOE DOWLING 35 

“No, sir; it isn’t that. But it’s mighty hard 
on a guy when his mother can’t trust him.” 

“Of course it is,” assented the young man. 
“And I feel sure that if you were to explain 
everything—” 

“But that’s the trouble, sir; I can’t explain.” 

There was an awkward silence, broken almost 
at once by a startling, quick succession of knocks 
at the door. 


CHAPTER III 


LOUIS DAVICO 

N ow a knocking at the door, coming unex¬ 
pectedly, is often startling. At the first 
rap, Lord Bountiful, springing to his feet, 
slipped his right hand into his hip pocket; Marie 
started nervously, uttering a suppressed shriek; 
Eileen, Frank and Julia huddled together; 
Mrs. Dowling made the sign of the cross; and 
Joe, running on tiptoe, softly opened the door 
into the next room and as swiftly shut himself 
in. As Joe disappeared from view, Lord Boun¬ 
tiful, stepping forward, threw open the door 
with his free hand, revealing to all Master Louis 
Davico. 

Louis presented a strange appearance. His 
handsome head was bent down, his two fists 
were held at the angle which is proper for sprint¬ 
ing, he was breathing heavily, his parted lips re¬ 
vealing a perfect set of splendid white teeth. 
On his head was perched a cap at a very reck¬ 
less angle, obscuring from view his right 
eye, the other being fastened intently upon his 
feet. In point of fact, Louis looked as if he 
had come up the stairs to attack the whole Dowl¬ 
ing family. 

“Good evening, Louis. Won’t you come in?” 
said Mrs. Dowling kindly. 

“Of course, he will,” said Lord Bountiful, tak- 
36 


LOUIS DAVICO 37 

ing Louis around the shoulders and escorting 
him beyond the threshold. 

“Mrs. Dowling,” began Louis, still maintain¬ 
ing the same position, “I’ve come to say some¬ 
thing to you.” 

“Is it private, Louis?” 

“It was, but it ain’t,” came the mystic answer. 
Whereupon Louis started suddenly, sighed heav¬ 
ily, and, removing his cap, proceeded to twirl it 
with both hands. 

“I hope,” the boy continued, gasping between 
his words, “that you are not going to paddle 
Joe for going in swimming.” 

“It is very kind of you, Louis, to stand up for 
him, the more so as you and Joe have not been 
very good friends for a long time.” 

“We are now,” said Louis. 

“I’m so glad to hear you say so,” said the 
mother, “especially as my little boy was to 
blame. He has always said so himself. He 
called you a name, and he has been sorry and 
wanted to make up for a long time. But won’t 
you sit down, Louis? Then you might tell us 
how you came to become friends again.” 

“Aren’t his teeth beautiful! Dazzling white,” 
whispered Marie to Julia. Julia for answer 
curled her precious little nose. 

“It was this way,” explained Louis. “This 
afternoon he knocked the stuffin’ out o’ me.” 

“What?” exclaimed the horrified mother. 

“Ha! ha! ha!” thundered Lord Bountiful. 
“That’s a novel way of making up.” 

“But I was to blame. You see, the bunch of 
us met at that house-boat to arrange for a game 
of baseball. Joe is the captain of the Corsair 


38 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


Club and I am captain of the Pirates. Well, we 
settled on a game for next week, but that game 
won’t be played off.” 

“Why not?” asked Lord Bountiful. 

“Because, sir, the two teams have disbanded, 
and there’s only one team now.” Here Louis 
lifted his eyes, and into his face came the flush of 
enthusiasm. “We’ve already formed a new team, 
though he doesn’t know it yet. And Joe will 
be captain. Joe’s the best catcher of his age 
from the top of Mt. Adams to the top of Price 
Hill, and me”—the enthusiasm on Louis’s face 
grew radiant as he broke into a smile—“I’m the 
best pitcher. Oncet I struck out fifteen men in 
a game. You’ve heard of me, sir?” 

“Sure!” roared Lord Bountiful with a fine 
mendacity and an enthusiasm that outmatched 
that of the ardent Italian. “But you’re going 
too fast, young man. You haven’t told us yet 
how you and Joe came to make up.” 

“You’re right, sir,” answered Louis, now fully 
at his ease. “But before I forget it, I want to 
tell you that we’re going to call our new team— 
that is, if Joe agrees to it—the Corpies. You 
see the ‘Cor’ is part of Corsair and the ‘Pies’ is 
part of Pirates. Isn’t that a swell name? I 
made that up out of my own head.” 

While Lord Bountiful was expressing his high 
delight at this remarkable bit of original com¬ 
position and adjuring the shining-eyed youth to 
unfold his tale of reconciliation, Marie whis¬ 
pered to Julia— 

“What lovely hair! So black and glossy. He 
should wear it pompadour.” 

The delicate nose of Julia quivered, taking, of 


LOUIS DAVICO 39 

course, a turn upward, as she made answer, 
“Anyhow, he’s not silly ” 

Marie bit her lips, cast her eyes ceilingward, 
sighed and said, “You’re too ignorant to appre¬ 
ciate intelligent conversation.” In answer to 
which the unruffled Julia raised one delicate 
white hand to her serene brow and with rapidly 
turning fingers gave a graphic imitation of 
wheels in rapid motion. 

“Poor child!” whispered Marie in accents of 
deep pity, going on, however, to add savagely, 
“I’d like to shake the life out of you!” 

“I told you all,” went on Louis in answer to 
Lord Bountiful’s request, “that Joe licked the 
stuffin’ out o’ me. And he did it in less than 
three minutes. Now, what do you know about 
that?” 

“Remarkable!” cried the delighted Lord Boun¬ 
tiful. 

“He couldn’t have done it a year ago,” Louis 
went on; “but, you see, he’s been a member of 
the Fenwick Club for the past year, and I’ve 
been told that he’s the best swimmer and boxer 
of any boy under fourteen who belongs. I’m 
going to join the Fenwick, too.” 

“So shall I, if I stay in this town,” said the 
man. “But go on.” 

“Well, the fight came about this way. When 
we had settled on the game, I proposed that we 
all take a dip. Everybody was willing but Joe. 
He said lie wouldn’t. I tried to make him 
change his mind, but it was no go. Then I be¬ 
gan to bully Joe. I’ve been a bully—my 
mother told me—but not any more for me. 
But I couldn’t move Joe. So when I got 


40 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


ready to go in, I tried to push Joe into the 
water. He clinched with me, and I got mad 
and busted him one in the jaw, and then 
Joe jumped back and tore loose. Oh, Mamma!" 
ejaculated the lively Italian, shooting both arms 
after the manner of a quick-fisted pugilist. 
“What he didn't do to me ain't worth mention¬ 
ing. And then when he planted one on my 
chin and I fell over—why—why—do you know 
I felt that moment that I had always liked Joe? 
And when I fell into a ‘Now-I-lay-me-down-to- 
sleep' pose on the ground, I—I—" Here the 
eyes of Louis blazed— “I just loved him!" 

“This," commented the equally excited young 
man, “is better than a play. It's worth a trip 
from—well, but what has this to do with Joe's 
going swimming?" 

“Didn't I tell you?" asked the boy, lifting 
surprised brows. 

“You certainly did not." 

“Why, I got beyond my depth and became 
weak all of a sudden. I sank and I called for 
help. There wasn't a fellow in who could swim 
ten strokes. And Joe—why he jus'—kicked off 
his shoes and tore his shirt in halves and slipped 
out of his knickers and out he came and yanked 
me in." 

The expression of holy joy that came upon 
the face of the good mother, Lord Bountiful will 
never forget as long as he lives. Mrs. Dowling 
said nothing. Her hands came together, her lips 
moved in silent prayer. The room, Lord Boun¬ 
tiful fancied, was thronged with angels. 

“Wonderful! wonderful!" he said in tones that 
vibrated with the intensity of his emotion. “But 


LOUIS DAVICO 41 

what I can’t understand is why Joe didn’t ex¬ 
plain that to ns.” 

“Oh, there’s a reason, all right,” said Louis. 
“When I came to myself after he yanked me 
out, I was plum scared. You see, sir, I had 
promised my mother I wouldn’t go in. And I 
had broken my word, and I was afraid of getting 
a paddling. You know how a fellow feels when 
he is yanked out of the water?” 

“Perfectly,” assented Lord Bountiful, once 
more mendaciously obliging. 

“Well, I was all shaken up; and I just got to 
blubbering like—like some fool girl.” Here 
realizing the company he was in, Louis flushed 
and hesitated. Taking advantage of which, Julia 
turned her cool, straight eyes relentlessly upon 
Marie, who, carried away by a flood of indig¬ 
nation, gave Julia a sharp pinch. 

“Ouch!” screamed Julia. 

“What is it, Julia?” asked the mother. 

“Excuse me,” answered the child, “it was a 
shock. Please go on, Louis.” 

“I was kind of frightened, and I was afraid 
to go home because Dad would take the hide off 
me. And Joe—why Joe—say, he’s the best guy 
that ever I met. He kept his word of honor. 
He didn’t break his word to his mother; and 
that’s why he licked me, and it served me right.” 

“What about Joe?” asked Lord Bountiful, 
rubbing his hands through his hair and in a 
state of wild excitement. 

“Why, Joe, he ups and says, ‘Louie,’ he says, 
‘I’ll keep it a dead secret, and so will every guy 
here; won’t you, fellows?’ And they all said 
they’d never tell anybody, and,” he added trium- 


42 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


phantly, “they all have kept mum. There’s no 
one in this town knows a word about it but you 
folks and my mother. You see, I had to tell her. 
Do you think I’d stand for Joe’s getting a lick¬ 
ing and me saved by him? Not on your life!” 

“Louis Davico,” cried Lord Bountiful, catch¬ 
ing the boy’s hands in a clasp that caused that 
youth to wince, “you’re white all the way 
through.” 

“I wasn’t,” answered the modest youth, “but 
—ouch! you’re going to crack my bones—thank 
you, sir—I’m going to be. I’ll join the Fenwick 
and get with Joe’s crowd, and I’m going to be 
an acolyte at St. Xavier’s along with Joe, and 
—and—I’ll try my durndest to be in his class.” 

“By the way,” observed Lord Bountiful, 
“we’ve all been so interested that we’ve lost sight 
of Joe. Where is he?” 

“I’ll get him,” volunteered Marie. She was 
followed in her quest by all the children. 

“He’s not here,” cried Julia from the farthest 
room. “Joe! Joe!” 

“Joe!” screamed the children. 

Suddenly their calls ceased, succeeded by 
shrill and continuous laughter, laughter pro¬ 
longed until Marie and Julia, panting and exult¬ 
ant, brought into full view the struggling and 
unwilling boy, whose face and clothes were 
whiter than the driven snow. 

“We found him,” explained Julia, “in the old 
flour barrel, where he was hiding from the cops.” 


CHAPTER IV 


THE TROUBLES OF THE DOWLING FAMILY 

M iss Margaret Dowling tripped lightly up 
the stairs, a song in her heart and a song 
on her lips. The day—the working day— 
was done, and the family reunion was with her 
presence to be made complete. Unannounced 
and without knocking, she entered the family sit¬ 
ting-room, took one glance, rubbed her eyes and 
suppressed a scream. She found herself gazing 
upon a strange party. Standing in the middle 
of the room was a youth whose clothes were 
smeared with flour and whose face, where it was 
not plastered over with the same ghostly color¬ 
ing, was fiery red. Around him, every face 
streaked with flour, stood the family, all smiling 
with a ghastly effect; and at the window Lord 
Bountiful gazing intently across the way. 

“Hey, Peggy,” cried Frank, “look at Joe. 
He’s been hiding in the flour barrel, and Lord 
Bountiful says he’s a Nero.” 

“Frank means to say,” explained Julia, “that 
Joe is a hero. And he is. He fought Louis 
Davico and almost put him to sleep, and then he 
saved Louis from drowning in the river, and he 
was chased by the cop in a gunny-sack, and when 
he thought the cop was after him, he hid him¬ 
self in the flour barrel, and when he came out 
43 


44 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


all of us hugged and kissed him—which got him 
red hot—and mussed us all up till we look like 
a holy show.” 

“Look here,” protested Joe. “I don’t want 
you to be calling me names. You’d think the 
way Louie talked that I had done something 
wonderful. He was the hero. When I swam 
out to him, he didn’t grab at me. He was as 
cool as a chocolate sundae. I told him to lay 
one hand on my shoulder; and he did. It was 
dead easy.” 

Meanwhile Mrs. Dowling, greeting Peggy ef¬ 
fusively, whispered into her ear, “Oh, Peggy, if 
your father were with us today, how proud he 
would be of our boy. He has a sense of honor. 
I can trust him. Thank God. By the way, meet 
his friend, Lord Bountiful.” 

“I am certainly more than pleased to meet 
you, Miss Dowling,” he said. “And now I be¬ 
lieve I have met the whole family—” 

“You haven’t seen Daddy,” said Frank. 

“Look at his picture,” said Eileen, taking a 
photograph from the mantelpiece. 

“Tell me more about him,” requested Lord 
Bountiful. 

“My father,” said Julia, who seemed to con¬ 
sider herself the official chronicler of the family, 
“was a rather tall man—not quite so tall as you, 
Lord Bountiful. He had beautiful dark 
eyes—” 

“And a cameo face,” put in Marie, “lovely eyes, 
hair that was a shade darker than mine, a win¬ 
ning smile and a laugh that let every one see a 
perfect set of teeth. His features were very reg¬ 
ular, and he had a silky moustache. He was 


FAMILY TROUBLES 45 

very handsome, and I look like him. I resemble 
him more than any one in the family.” 

“Where’s your moustache?” asked Joe unfeel¬ 
ingly. 

“Marie,” went on Julia, who had calmly been 
waiting to put in her oar, “states the truth. She 
resembles our father very closely. She looks 
like him, but she is not like him at all outside 
of the looks.” 

“How very complimentary you are,” said 
Marie in tones intended to be sarcastic. 

“I do not intend to be complimentary. I in¬ 
tend to tell the truth,” retorted Julia. “My 
father was kind and pleasant, and he loved us 
more than we loved him. Just before he en¬ 
listed, he was about to be promoted. He was 
working as a salesman in an auto-supply com¬ 
pany, and was earning thirty dollars a week. 
He had been raised twice in six months. The 
firm were going to put him in as head salesman 
at fifty a week when he suddenly took it into 
his head to enlist. He went off without even 
bidding us good-bye. None of us can account 
for it.” 

Peggy, who had retired to remove her hat and 
wraps, now appeared once more. Her sleeves 
were rolled up above her elbows. Peggy was the 
beauty of the family, a beauty the more attract¬ 
ive for the sweet modesty that hedged it in. 

“Excuse me, sir,” she said, smiling and flush¬ 
ing, “but this is the hour we give to the chil¬ 
dren—the scrubbing hour. So you’ll "pardon 
them for a few moments. Julia and Marie are 
my assistants. Come on, children!” 


46 LORD BOUNTIFUL 

The children showed a striking lack of enthu¬ 
siasm. 

“Shucks!” growled Joe. “I’ve been in the 
river: that ought to count.” 

“Yes, but you’ve been in the flour barrel, too,” 
urged Peggy. 

“And Frank and I,” pleaded Eileen, “haven’t 
been playing on the street. We’ve been sitting 
here and behaving ourselves perfectly with Lord 
Bountiful looking on.” 

“So they have,” assented the family friend; 
“and I have been having such a wonderful time 
that I have very, very much overstayed, sitting 
and listening—and a perfect stranger at that.” 
Lord Bountiful, who had been making a careful 
study of the various portraits of Mr. Dowling, 
brought to him one by one by Frank and Eileen 
during the previous conversation, laid them 
down on the mantel and was evidently about to 
make his departure, whereupon there arose a 
chorus of protests. 

“Oh, but I must go.” 

“Stay till you see how nice we look when we’re 
washed,” implored Eileen. 

“Stay a moment longer,” whispered the 
mother. “And, Peggy dear, keep the children 
till I send for them.” 

There were a few difficulties attendant upon 
clearing the room of the young hopefuls, all of 
whom would slip away from the grasp of Peggy, 
Julia and Marie to renew their farewells to the 
tall handsome young man. 

“Sir,” said the mother, when the children were 
out of sight, but by no means out of hearing, 
“I’ve got what Joe calls ‘a hunch.’ ” 


FAMILY TROUBLES 47 

“And that is?” inquired Lord Bountiful, re¬ 
turning her straight sweet gaze. 

“That you belong here. I fear I am not clear. 
Just now I return to my home and find a per¬ 
fect stranger, as people would say, talking to and 
playing with my children. But it never occurred 
to me that you were a stranger. When I was in¬ 
troduced, I felt as if I had known you for years. 
Knowing nothing of you, of where you come 
from, of what you do, of your life or surround¬ 
ings, I just take you for granted.” 

“Upon my word,” said the big man, beaming, 
“Uve never heard nicer words in all the twenty- 
seven years of my life. Mrs. Dowling, Uve fal¬ 
len dead in love with your whole family—includ¬ 
ing yourself. You needn’t blush; Urn perfectly 
safe. I’m a married man with the sweetest wife 
and the two loveliest children in the world— 
though Fm not quite sure that they are lovelier 
than Peggy and Julia and Joe.” 

“And what about Marie and Eileen and 
Frank?” cried the jealous mother. 

“Oh, they’re wonderful! All the same, I’ve 
got to stick up for my own family. But I’ve 
got a hunch, too. And my hunch is that we are 
all going to see a lot of each other.” 

“That is very like mine, Lord Bountiful. And 
there’s something else I want to tell you. This 
is my special day—Thursday. I’ve dedicated 
Thursday to the Little Flower.” 

“My little daughter Jane, aged five, is named 
in her honor, and dedicated to her.” 

“Oh, I know you belong here. Well, there’s 
hardly a Thursday passes but the Little Flower 
remembers me in some way or another. Coming 


48 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


home—you know I do cleaning and scrubbing— 
I was asking myself, ‘What is the Little Flower 
bringing me today?’ I was sure of something. 
And when I enter the room I find you.” 

Lord Bountiful’s cheeks flushed. 

“I hope you are right, Mrs. Dowling. I hope 
that I shall see much more of you and your fam¬ 
ily. But I’m here today and off tomorrow. I’m 
not master of my time; still, it looks as though 
I may be in Cincinnati' for some weeks to come. 
By the way, you may call me Paul Francis; that 
is not my real name—but it’s close to it.” Here, 
Paul Francis took out from an inner pocket of 
his coat a card-case. “Look at this,” he said, 
holding up a card. 

Mrs. Dowling read it. 

“Oh!” she said. 

“Keep that to yourself. Don’t let any one 
know'—not even Peggy. I must remain unknown 
here, if possible.” 

“You have trusted me, Paul. Let me show an 
equal confidence. I’m worrying.” 

“About what?” 

“First of all, about my husband. The chil¬ 
dren do not know how he came to leave us so 
suddenly. He was a good man in every way; 
but changeable. And he had one weakness.” 

“Indeed.” 

“It was drink. I met him first when he was 
twenty-one. He was then very dissipated. I 
brought him back to church. He loved me. He 
gave up his bad habits, and for two years, he 
was all that could be expected. The cure seemed 
to be complete. Then I married him. All went 
well till our first child came. He was the proud- 


FAMILY TROUBLES 


49 


est father in the world. He was working then in 
an anto-repair shop. Nothing would do him but 
to treat every employee in his department. There 
had been some friction between the employers 
and the workers. My husband had complained 
to me several times of some injustice. A few 
drinks caused his indignation to rise to the boil¬ 
ing point. He created a scene in the office, and 
was discharged. In three days he was himself 
again; but it took him four months to find work; 
and when he did, it was at a lower salary, and 
our little savings were gone.” 

“So he wasn’t cured after all.” 

“I had thought he was. After this, he vowed 
that he’d never touch liquor again. And he 
meant it. The years passed. God sent us Marie 
and Julia. He was as joyous as before—for he 
dearly loves children—but he kept his head. His 
salary was raised twice. We had several hun¬ 
dred dollars in the bank at interest. Then one 
day God in His goodness sent us a lovely baby 
boy—Baby Joe. It was the first boy. His joy 
was too much for him. While I lay sick at home, 
he went out and disappeared for three days. 
Then we heard of him. There was a man in the 
office who was my husband’s immediate superior. 
This man had been unjust and unkind to my 
husband on several occasions. On this third day 
my husband entered the office and knocked him 
down.” 

“Anyhow,” observed Paul with a grim smile, 
“I hope your husband gave him what was com¬ 
ing to him.” 

“The people who knew the circumstances say 
that he did. Well, he came back that evening 


50 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


without a position. Worst of all, he had drawn 
out all our savings, wasted forty dollars, and 
invested the rest in wildcat oil-stocks. After 
seven years of happy married life, and with four 
lovely children, Peggy, Marie, Julia and Joe— 
and every day I thank God for these gifts and 
mercies—we were poorer than when we stood 
together and pledged ourselves at the altar.” 

“For better or worse,” said Paul, trying to 
smile. 

“Seven years of the ‘better,’ ” said Mrs. Dow¬ 
ling bravely, “with just four or five days of 
‘worse.’ I always try to remember that.” 

At this point of their intimate conversation, 
the general babble of the children subsided, and 
two voices, both loud, one passionate, caused 
them to pause. 

“Your complexion,” came the loud, calm voice, 
“is part drug-store; and you put it on as if you 
were a sign-painter.” 

“Joe Dowling, you ought to be ashamed of 
yourself talking to me in that way.” 

“But,” continued Joe, “that drug-store stuff 
doesn’t give you a clear, beautiful white skin 
like mine. My complexion is lovely. Isn’t it, 
Julia?” 

“All but the freckles,” drawled the young lady 
addressed. 

“Yes,” cried Marie triumphantly, “you’ve got 
a crop of freckles that makes that ugly mug of 
yours look like the milky way turned from white 
to black.” 

“Aw! go on,” returned Joe, sheer joy in his 
voice. “I don’t have to powder my nose every 
ten seconds in order to look decent. Before you 


FAMILY TROUBLES 


51 


wash and fix yourself in the morning, your mug 
looks muddy— muddy —MUDDY!” These last 
three words Joe shrieked in an ascending scale. 

Having said this, the hilarious youth howled 
with glee. There followed a commotion, shouts, 
cries, the sound of a slap and a scream. 

“Let go my hair, you wicked boy.” 

“You will slap me, will you?” 

Feggy’s golden voice rose above the discord. 

“Joe, go into the other room. You have no 
right to tease her into a rage.” 

“She’s no right to get into a rage. What’s a 
complexion, anyhow? What’s the sense in get¬ 
ting excited about a little thing like that? I’ve 
got the loveliest complexion myself; so have you, 
Peggy; and so has Julia. We’ve all got lovely 
complexions except Marie. Hers is rotten. Mil¬ 
lions can’t buy freckles, golden freckles like 
mine. But any flapper can buy a complex¬ 
ion—” 

Here the voice stopped, a door slammed: Joe 
had beaten a retreat in haste before the fury of 
a woman scorned. 

“There it is,” said Mrs. Dowling, with a smile 
that was close to a tear. “Joe is the best boy 
in the world; but a dreadful tease. He has a 
gift for picking out any weak point in the other 
children. Just at present, Marie has become 
greatly interested in her complexion.” 

“I think,” observed Paul, “that I was that way 
myself when I was a boy. It is simply youthful 
exuberance.” 

“I can hardfy blame him myself,” admitted 
the mother, “especially when Marie happens to 
get into one of her foolish periods. She’s having 


52 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


one now. Sometimes, Paul, I tremble for that 
girl’s future. She takes after her father in many 
ways. She is emotional—going from one ex¬ 
treme to another. Just now she’s furious at Joe. 
But tonight something like this will happen: 
After Joe says his prayers, he will, at my re¬ 
quest, go to Marie and ask her pardon for teas¬ 
ing her. Now, if he does it in the proper fash¬ 
ion, if he shows a spark of the real love he has 
for Marie, she will melt away at once. Her 
affection will blaze out in such a way that Joe, 
who is wanting in sentiment, will get huffed and 
show resentment, and, unless I step in promptly 
there will be another row.” 

“So Marie is very affectionate.” 

“She’s running over with love and romance. 
That’s her danger. She’s in love with love. Any¬ 
body can win her affection by the least display 
of kindness. And as to praise—you can turn 
her head completely by a little flattery. She’s 
impulsive, too. She reacts so easily. Unfor¬ 
tunately, her dear father doted on her. She 
loved him tenderly. She hungered for his love, 
and the more she hungered, the more he lavished 
it upon her. Three years ago, she learned a 
little dance at school. When she performed it 
for her father, he made so much of it that the 
child was elated beyond all measure. She is 
very graceful and light on her feet. One day 
he said that he considered her as having the 
makings of a great dancer. That settled it for 
Marie. Abandoning all idea of entering the re¬ 
ligious life, which had been her aspiration since 
making her first Communion, she gave all her 
energy and spare time to dancing. Whenever 


FAMILY TROUBLES 


53 


she could appear in public, she was on hand. 
Applause intoxicated her. After a while, she 
had as many as two or three engagements each 
week. In all this, her father aided and abetted 
her. When her teacher sent for me and com¬ 
plained that Marie was doing little or nothing 
in the way of study, I ordered the child to ac¬ 
cept no further engagements. Marie wept and 
protested; and her father on learning the state 
of affairs grew sulky. It was the first and only 
time that there was a disagreement between us 
before the children. He left the house that eve¬ 
ning in an ugly mood. Marie had been asked 
to dance the following week for the benefit of 
the war orphans in Belgium. Mr. Dowling had 
been much stirred over our going into the war. 
His patriotism was rising each day. His last 
words as he left the house were: ‘All the same, 
Mary, I think you made a big mistake in refus¬ 
ing to let Marie dance for the benefit of the 
greatest cause on earth. If I weren’t married, 
with a wife and six children depending on me, 
I’d enlist right now.’ ” 

Mrs. Dowling’s lips quivered. Stifling a sob, 
she resumed. 

“I never saw him again. And—O God, forgive 
me if I failed in my wifely duties—we parted in 
anger.” 

“And you have never heard from him since?” 

“I heard nothing for three months. Then 
came a letter from him signed James Shea. 
After leaving us, he had gone to see a moving 
picture concerning the war. It raised his pa¬ 
triotism to the snapping point. One of the men 
with him proposed drinking to the success of 


54 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


the American soldiers. He drank—with the 
usual result. He not only enlisted, hut almost 
forced every one in his crowd to follow his ex¬ 
ample. For fear of being rejected, he changed 
his name, and stated that he had neither wife 
nor children. All this he told me: the letter was 
blotted with his tears.” 

“Poor fellow! He and Marie are strangely 
alike,” commented Paul, “both of them are quick 
to ‘obey that impulse.’ But did you never hear 
from him again?” 

“Yes; a month later. On the very day he 
wrote it, he went out to get a sniper and never 
was heard of since. He is now considered dead.” 

“And so the whole burden of supporting the 
family is thrown on you?” 

“Not entirely, Paul. I have two younger chil¬ 
dren, aged four, William and Rose. They are 
twins and, though I say it myself, are simply 
lovely. They look like little angels. Shortly 
after my husband disappeared, and while I was 
still casting about to get some kind of work—at 
the very moment, indeed, when there was not 
a cent in the house, a cousin of mine who mar¬ 
ried wealth and who doesn’t want people to know 
that she once sold hosiery in a department store 
called on me. I had written her a letter telling 
her of the condition we were in. She came at 
night and secretly. She didn’t want it known 
that she was in the neighborhood. There are 
some around here who might possibly remem¬ 
ber her as a seven-dollar-a-week saleswoman.” 

“Isn’t it strange,” said Paul with a grin, 
“that so few people can stand prosperity?” 

“I don’t know,” answered the mother, break- 


FAMILY TROUBLES 


55 


ing into a smile, “since I never had a chance 
to try it out. Well, she would hardly shake 
hands with me. She said it served me right for 
marrying a fool; that I was poor because I had 
no sense. Then she came down to business. 
‘You have two lovely children/ she said. ‘Where 
in the world did they get their grace and beauty? 
One would imagine/ she remarked airily, ‘that 
those twins must have come of very fine stock. 
No one would believe that they were the children 
of paupers.’ ” 

“Upon my word/’ broke in Paul. “Do you 
know that there’s nothing in the world so vul¬ 
garizing as wealth?” 

“I shouldn’t be surprised if it were so,” an¬ 
swered the woman. “Especially if it is sudden 
wealth. It’s the same, I believe, with sudden 
poverty. Wealth makes one hold his head too 
high; poverty makes one hang it too low. But 
—I fear the children are getting restless—to go 
on. She offered to take care of the two children 
as though they were her own. But I was to see 
them only once a year.” 

“Upon my word!” roared Paul. “Didn’t you 
show her the door?” 

“That’s the way I felt. But I looked at the 
two little ones; I was despondent. I wept bit¬ 
terly, but I gave them up.” 

“But you signed no papers?” 

“Not yet. She wants me to make them over 
legally; but I haven’t done so yet.” 

“Never do it, dear Madam. Don’t lose cour¬ 
age. By the way, loan me three of these por¬ 
traits of James Shea, alias James Dowling— 
these three. Thank you.” 


56 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


At the mother’s word, there burst into the 
room the lovely tribe of brothers and sisters, 
immaculately clean, smiling, beautiful. 

“Never, never say you are poor,” whispered 
the man. 

“Never again,” answered the woman; “I have 
six precious jewels yet.” 


CHAPTER Y 


MARIE DOWLING, FLAPPER 

“Qay, Lord Bountiful, have you heard Peggy 

O play the piano ?” 

“Why, does she play? I should be de¬ 
lighted to hear her.” 

“That’s her piano,” said Frank, pointing with 
pride to a new instrument. 

“And she pays for it on the instalment plan,” 
added Eileen. 

“She has had it for ten weeks, Lord Bounti¬ 
ful,” drawled Julia, “and she pays five dollars 
a week out of her salary, which is fifteen dol¬ 
lars. The head Sister at St. Xavier’s school 
advised her to buy it, because Peggy, who took 
lessons for three years at the school, has more 
than ordinary talent. She has sixty more pay¬ 
ments to make yet.” 

“Upon my word,” chuckled Paul Francis, 
“your little ones seem to know all about the 
finances of the family.” 

“Mother,” said Marie, “gets eight a week; and 
out of her salary she puts away one dollar.” 

“Last Christmas,” put in Julia, “the company 
she works for gave her a ten-dollar gold piece, 
and that went into the bank, too—all except 
one dollar: she kept that to treat the twins— 
you’ve heard of the twins, sir?” 

“Indeed, I have. How I should like to see 
them!” 


57 


58 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“Christmas Day is the day we are allowed to 
see them. Oh, it was a great day. The twins 
were dressed like very rich people.” 

“Sister Rose had flounces on her dress, and 
white silk stockings,” volunteered Eileen. “And 
there were clocks on her stockings—not the 
kind that go, you understand?” 

“I do,” said Paul Francis gravely. 

“And Will,” said Joe, “was dressed like the 
pitcher I saw of Little Lord Fauntleroy. He 
looked like an awful sissy, with the silk sash 
and long curls. All the same, he was pretty as 
a pitcher.” 

“But he wasn’t as pretty as Rose,” said Marie 
wflth much vivacity. “Rose wore a gold locket 
with a diamond in it, and she had the cutest ring 
on her finger with a lovely emerald—and she 
looked as beautiful as—” Here Marie, pausing 
for dramatic effect, rolled her eyes. 

“As pretty as you’d like to look—but can’t,” 
put in Julia with perfect gravity. 

“Did I show you this?” continued Julia, as 
she took a small bank from the mantel-piece. 

“What is it?” asked Paul. 

“It’s my bank,” responded Julia with con¬ 
scious pride. “I’ve got four dollars and eighty- 
seven cents in it.” 

“Good gracious. And it’s all yours?” 

“It’s to buy a baby,” explained Julia. 

“Are you starting a baby farm?” 

“A China baby, you know.” 

“Wouldn’t an American baby do just as well?” 

“I think you are stringing me, Lord Bounti¬ 
ful. They don’t sell American babies. But 
the heathen China women do. Those China folks 


59 


MARIE DOWLING, FLAPPER 

don’t care for baby girls, and unless the Catho¬ 
lic Sisters buy them up, their unnatural moth¬ 
ers throw ’em away. Now, five dollars pays for 
one baby, including 1 board and lodgings and 
Baptism and religion. My baby is going to be 
called ‘Little Flower.’ It’s my second baby, 
sir; my first was called ‘Rita.’ ” 

“How would you like to hear this, sir,” asked 
who had been running through her music 

sheets. 

“That Intermezzo from the ‘Jewels of the Ma¬ 
donna’?” asked Marie scornfully. “Why don’t 
you give him something up-to-date—‘Dardanella’ 
or something like that?” 

“Play something Irish,” pleaded Joe. 

“By all means, let me hear the Intermezzo,” 
said Paul. 

“Say, Lord Bountiful,” whispered Julia, as 
Peggy arranged her music and seated herself at 
the piano, “I feel awfully sorry for those China 
people. They’re so dreadfully poor, you know. 
Don’t you think we ought to help them?” 

Mr. Paul Francis looked straight into the hon¬ 
est eyes and pathetic face of the child. She was 
clad in thin and much worn garments. She 
looked underfed. Her shoes were patched. A 
lump arose in his throat. 

“We all ought to be kind to the poor,” he man¬ 
aged to say. 

“That’s what I think,” agreed the simple 
child, who had not had so much as five cents 
pocket money in three weeks. 

Peggy began to play, the quiet, sweet, home- 
loving Peggy. Where did she get the power to 
express the wild, gypsy-like longing, the glory 


60 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


and the underlying pathos of life, the urge for 
happiness that is ever sought for, never found 
—in a word, the vision of the enticing pagean¬ 
try of the world together with its transiency? 
Peggy was in truth an artist. Paul Francis, 
keenly alive to the music, contrived, neverthe¬ 
less, to slip into Julia’s bank thirteen cents— 
Baby number two, another Little Flower. 

The whole family, to do them justice, listened 
with perfect attention; even Marie, who, never¬ 
theless, took the opportunity to observe herself 
at various angles in the mirror. When, at the 
conclusion of the Intermezzo, there arose en¬ 
thusiastic applause, Julia, who, much to the 
speechless chagrin of Frank and Eileen, had 
seated herself on Paul’s knees, confided into his 
attentive ear, as she continued clapping her 
hands: 

“Look at Marie. It seems she can’t see her¬ 
self too often. Marie is the swiftest runner of 
all the girls in our school; but Joe says he can 
fix a race so that almost any girl could beat her 
easily.” 

“Splendid! Beautiful!” roared Paul, refer¬ 
ring to the pianist; “now let’s have that Irish 
piece. And how,” he went on, lowering his voice 
for the judicious Julia’s ear, “could Joe man¬ 
age to have her beaten?” 

“Oh, it’s quite simple. Joe says all that you 
need to do would be to have a few looking-glasses 
—say three—hung along the track where Marie 
would have to pass. He says that even if there 
were a prize of fifty-thousand dollars up for the 
winner, every looking-glass would make Marie 


MARIE DOWLING, FLAPPER 61 

come to a dead stop to pat her hair or powder 
her nose.” 

At the very moment that Julia uttered the 
last seven words, Marie was suiting her action 
to Julia’s words. 

Paul Francis, in endeavoring to restrain 
laughter that would else have been Gargan¬ 
tuan, was within a little of choking to death. 

“And,” continued Julia, highly delighted with 
the tremendous effect she was producing, and 
relaxing into a smile, “Joe says that if Marie 
were running against any ordinary girl, one 
looking-glass would be enough.” 

Before Paul Francis could frame a suitable 
comment on this original scheme for playing 
the races, Peggy struck a single chord and then 
launched into “The Wear in’ of the Green.” She 
played it dramatically. Into the notes she cov¬ 
ered deep pathos, lofty patriotism and all the 
sorrows of seven hundred years of cruel op¬ 
pression. 

“Are you an Irishman, sir?” whispered Julia. 

“If I were not, I’d turn one on the spot,” an¬ 
swered Paul, who was affected almost to tears 
by Peggy’s artistry. “I say, Peggy, give us 
some more Irish.” 

Peggy without further ado set her fingers 
twinkling into an Irish jig. As she struck the 
first bar, a strange and pretty change came over 
Marie. Her face grew softer, younger, the little 
touch of sophistication left her. Playful fairies, 
so it seemed to Paul, lurked in her dimpled face 
and made gay lightnings in her fair eyes. Her 
feet began to shuffle, to move to the rhythm. 

“Go on, Marie,” adjured Julia. 


62 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“Go on,” chimed in the other children. 

“Say,” observed Julia to her big friend, “when 
Marie hears Irish music like that, she just simply 
can’t do a thing with her feet.” 

This statement, taken literally, was anything 
but true; for Marie gliding to the center of the 
room was performing the Irish jig in a manner 
that would have caused a commission of experts 
to assert that she was a native of the “dear old 
land, the sweet old land, where the beautiful 
rivers flow.” 

Mr. Paul Francis was leading, had for the 
past hour been leading a crowded life. He gave 
a gasp and gazed at the twinkling feet and the 
radiant dancer. Marie had become, in an in¬ 
stant, quite another girl. Her beauty seemed 
to be touched with sweet innocence. Her eyes 
danced with her feet in a spirit of joy that was 
the spirit of untainted youth. The spirit of the 
age which may go down into history as the “jazz 
age” had fled from her form, face and features. 

“That’s the way my dear little girl looked,” 
said Mrs. Dowling, approaching him, “the day 
she made her first Communion. Isn’t it mar¬ 
velous how she can react to an impulse?” 

Mr. Paul Francis, gazing upon the gifted little 
dancer, asked himself whether he were really 
awake and, if he were really awake, whether the 
child was really the Marie who a moment be¬ 
fore had been primping herself at the mirror. 

At the end of her performance, the girl was 
greeted with such applause and acclamations 
that she could not but realize that she was in 
the limelight. In the very moment of triumph, 
her face took on an air of joy, but a different 


63 


MARIE DOWLING, FLAPPER 

sort of joy; one could see that she was elated 
with the applause. She was, so to speak, drunk 
with success. 

Running over to Peggy at the piano, she 
whispered. Peggy shook her head. Marie urged, 
insisted. With a slight shrug, she began the 
“Dardanella.” 

“Aw, cut it out,” growled Joe. 

Then began quite another sort of dance, per¬ 
formed by quite another dancer. Marie Dowling 
was graceful as ever—but no longer an innocent, 
little child. Into her performance there seemed 
to slip a touch of the world, the flesh and the 
devil. 

“If I were the mother of that girl,” thought 
Paul, “I’d feel about as safe in bringing her up 
as I would if I were juggling with three sticks 
of dynamite.” And Mr. Paul Francis, let me 
add, knew whereof he was speaking. Her mother 
was right. The child’s reactions were startling 
—and at times dangerous. Paul might have 
gone on further to commune with himself, when 
his threads of thought were at once snapped by 
no less a person than Master Joe Dowling, who, 
having eyed for some moments with strong dis¬ 
favor his wildly contortioning sister, suddenly 
conceived a brilliant idea. Stepping forward 
and facing Marie, he set himself to imitate her 
every motion. He did what she did, and, to 
use a happy expression which, so far as I know, 
has not yet found its way into approved English 
literature, “put something to it.” “Oh, the little 
more, and how much it is.” In less time than 
it takes to tell, the world, the flesh and the devil 
were banished, laughed out of existence. The 


64 


LOBD BOUNTIFUL 


only one who failed to share in the mirth was 
Marie herself. She made a mad dash at Joe, 
who, on her arrival, w T as elsewhere, his hands 
on his knees, his eyes begging her to come on 
again. Marie saw the snare; so placing her 
hands on her hips, cocking her head at a reck¬ 
less angle, elevating her nose and allowing her 
lips to relax so as to reveal her teeth, she saun¬ 
tered into the next room in the manner dear to 
the heart of those who admire the vamps of 
the Moving Picture world. 

“Say, Julia/’ said Frank, speaking for him¬ 
self and Eileen, a you get down; it’s our turn 
now.” 

Julia challenged this statement, and there 
arose among the three a hot argument as to who 
had sat the longest time on the coveted knees of 
the big man. He himself brought the argument 
to a close by looking at his watch, arising and 
declaring that he had not one moment to spare. 
Nevertheless it took him many moments to 
make his adieux. Marie reappeared, simple and 
smiling—for love, child love, for Lord Bounti¬ 
ful was burning within her—and bade him an 
affectionate farewell. 

“Marie,” he said, “if I were never, never to 
see you again, I should never, never forget you 
as a lovely, sweet Irish colleen.” 

Marie actually shivered with delight. 

“Come again, come again,” they all shouted, 
as their new friend ran lightly down the stairs. 
With his departure and the closing of the door 
upon him, the day grew old and wan. 

“Mother, dear,” said Peggy, drawing her 


MARIE DOWLING, FLAPPER 65 

aside, “why didn’t you ask him to take supper 
with us?” 

The good woman, patting Peggy’s cheek, tried 
to smile. She failed. 

“Mother, dear, what is it? I’ve noticed you 
ever since I got home. There’s trouble. I know 
there is.” 

“It—it will pass,” answered Mrs. Dowling, 
with a pathetic break in her voice. “Help me 
to be brave, dear. Today I had to meet some 
unexpected bills against your father: to meet 
them I was obliged to draw every cent out of our 
savings account and to borrow five dollars from 
a friend.” 

“Poor Mother,” sighed Peggy, the tears gath¬ 
ering in her eyes. 

“And the reason I did not ask Paul Francis 
—that is the name of Lord Bountiful—to eat 
with us was that the only thing left in the house 
is some bread—butterless bread—tea and three 
pint bottles of milk.” 

At the farther end of the room, Julia, having 
counted her bank money and discovering that 
she had, by some miracle, as she thought, reached 
her quota was calling all to her side to join 
with her in her rejoicings. Her little heart was 
aflame because she could reach a hand across 
the world and save from dire poverty some poor 
little almond-eyed baby. 

“Isn’t it dreadful to be so poor?” she was say¬ 
ing. 

“And,” went on the mother, still speaking to 
Peggy, “we have not as much as ten cents in 
the house.” 


CHAPTER VI 

A FAST, A FEAST AND A KNOCKING AT THE DOOR 

T he Dowling family, at the consecrated hour 
of six o’clock in the evening, were seated 
at supper. Three pint bottles of milk, a 
generous supply of water, and some slices of 
bread made up the modest repast. Within five 
minutes of their seating themselves at table, 
there was still left a generous supply of water— 
nothing else. Mrs. Dowling and Peggy had de¬ 
nied themselves the milk. 

“Do you know,” observed Joe, brightly, “that 
I feel just as if I could eat a little more.” 

“Joe Dowling,” admonished Marie, “you al¬ 
ways feel that way.” 

“Of course he does,” said Julia. “I always 
feel that way myself. That’s the sign of good 
health. I say, Mother, may I go barefooted to¬ 
morrow? I haven’t any stockings fit to wear any¬ 
how, and I want to save my shoes for Sunday.” 

“You may all go barefooted tomorrow,” an¬ 
swered the mother. 

This permission was received with unalloyed 
joy on the part of all save Marie. 

“To think of us sitting here,” observed that 
young lady, “eating bread with a few specks of 
sugar and drinking milk, when there are lots of 
people sitting in restaurants where there are 

bright lights and music and lobster--” 

66 


A KNOCKING AT THE DOOR 67 

“You’re one yourself,” growled Joe. 

“And champagne bubbling over in beautiful 
slim, long glasses. And between the courses you 
get up and dance with handsome young 
men—” 

“Lounge-lizards,” drawled Julia. 

“What do you know about it?” demanded the 
indignant young dreamer. 

“Aw, go on,” said Joe. “Why shouldn’t she 
know just as well as you? She was at the same 
picture last week, and so was I.” 

“The next thing you know,” continued Julia, 
“you’ll be dreaming that you dwelt in marble 
halls. It would be healthier,” continued the se¬ 
vere censor, pointing her fork at Marie, “if we 
were all to dream now and then that we dwelt 
as little babies in a stable with an ox or an ass 
standing round.” 

Every one at table, excepting Frank and 
Marie, turned eyes of admiration upon the young 
preacher. 

“Father Carney said something like that the 
other day in our catechism class,” explained 
Julia. She went on: “And another thing, Marie; 
what good does it do to think about things that 
make you unhappy? I’ll bet you the Little 
Flower when she was a little girl like you—” 

“Little girl!” protested Marie. 

“—never bothered about champagne, and I’m 
sure that she did not care about lobsters—” 

“Then,” interrupted Joe, “if she didn’t care 
for lobsters, I don’t see how she can care for 
Marie.” 

“Brute!” hissed the dreamer of dreams. 

Mrs. Dowling, catching Marie’s eye, put her 


68 LORD BOUNTIFUL 

finger to her lips, and smiling faintly shook her 
head. 

“And besides,” continued the judicious child, 
“wouldn’t it be more sensible to think of how 
many million poor people have nothing to eat 
but rice. Think about poor people when you are 
eating and then, another—” 

“Offer it up,” finished Joe, brightly; “Julia, 
you have said a mouthful.” 

“I like bread powdered with sugar,” volun¬ 
teered little Eileen, who, as a rule, was always 
on the side of the angels. “It tastes like cake. 
I like it so much that I could eat more.” 

Frank, who during this conversation had been 
performing a work of his own composition by 
striking a spoon on a tin plate, became inter¬ 
ested and ceased his performance. He, too, be¬ 
longed to the tribe of Oliver Twist. His eyes 
swept around till they caught those of Joe, who 
at once drew a horrible face. Frank, fascinated, 
could not turn his eyes away, whereupon Joe 
favored his little brother with a succession of 
faces, one more horrible than the other. 

Mrs. Dowling was just remarking that as 
there was nothing more to eat it might be 
proper to say grace, when her voice was 
drowned by a loud and strenuous wail. 

“What’s the matter, Frank?” she asked. 

“J—J—J—Joe is making faces at me!” 
howled the indignant child. 

“I just wanted to amuse him,” protested Joe. 
“I wanted to take his mind off more bread and 
sugar—” 

A loud knock at the door closed the boy’s 


A KNOCKING AT THE DOOR 69 


mouth and brought him with a jerk to his feet. 

Mrs. Dowling arose. 

“Come in,” she said. 

Then there entered a big man puffing vigor¬ 
ously and a boy of fifteen—such a jolly-looking 
boy—who, catching Joe’s eye, winked the wink 
of welcome. The boy was carrying a package, 
the man a small freezer. 

“These here things,” announced the boy, grin¬ 
ning expressively at each and every one, “is for 
Mrs. Dowling and family. They’re paid for 
cash—no charge. Neither of us drinks nor 
smokes nor curses. So we don’t want nothing, 
but thank you just the same. Good-bye,” and 
placing the bundle on the table, the boy, shoving 
his fat companion ahead, bowed himself out till 
there was nothing left of him—though his smile 
seemed to remain even after he had shut himself 
out. 

“Would you please let us know who sent 
them?” asked the mother, going to the door. 

“The gent didn’t give no name, ma’am,” an¬ 
swered the boy. 

“Hi!” piped Joe, who had at once opened the 
cover of the freezer, “it’s ice-cream!” 

With another whoop, he gave Julia a smack 
on the shoulders, which caused her to lose her 
dignity and emit a shriek of pain. 

“Ho, ho, ho,” screamed Eileen, “look at this. 
Cream puffs! Two stone cakes! Lady-fingers! 
Oh, it’s a feast.” 

“Sit down again, children,” ordered Mrs. 
Dowling, puzzled and smiling. “It’s not time 
for grace yet.” 

There was a mad dash for seats. 


70 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“Say, did yon see it?” whispered Joe to Julia, 
grinning and laughing. 

“See what?” asked the child, who was laugh¬ 
ing too. 

“Marie? She passed the looking glass just 
now without stopping to admire her mug.” And 
then the two chatted and laughed as though it 
were the funniest thing that ever happened. But 
no one took notice of them. All were laughing, 
all were gay beyond measure. Marie, while wait¬ 
ing for her dish of ice-cream, rose every other 
second, danced a few steps and seating herself 
hugged and kissed the two younger children. 
The laughter, however, in the nature of things, 
was short-lived. As each child received a heap¬ 
ing dish of ice-cream with an assortment of 
cakes—one of each of the five kinds of cakes— 
the noise grew perceptibly less. When all were 
served, there ensued perfect silence. 

“This,” came the golden voice of Peggy out 
of the silence, “is the ‘some day when dreams 
come true V ” 

“Who sent them, I wonder?” asked Joe. 

“The Little Flower,” answered Julia. 

“She’d never think of sending lobsters and 
champagne. She’s got more sense,” Joe wisely 
observed. 

“Didn’t you hear that boy say that the gent 
didn’t leave his card?” asked Marie, looking se¬ 
verely at her brother, but relaxing into a smile 
as she caught his friendly eye. “It was a man.” 

“Lord Bountiful,” said Eileen. 

“Children,” said the mother, upon whose 
cheeks had come a delicate flush, “I should not 
be surprised if all of you were right. Probably 


A KNOCKING AT THE DOOR 71 


Lord Bountiful—that is, Paul Francis—ordered 
and paid for the goods; but just as like as not, 
the Little Flower put it into his head.” 

“That’s it,” said Joe. “How could Lord 
Bountiful guess what we wanted if some one 
dicin’t whisper it to him. These are just the 
things we want. Say, Marie, I’m sorry for the 
way I treated you today. I hope you’ll make 
up.” 

Marie, looking once more like a little Irish 
colleen, jumped to her feet, danced over to Joe, 
and planted upon his freckled cheeks a resound¬ 
ing kiss. 

“Take care, Marie,” warned Joe, “don’t make 
so much noise, or you’ll wake up the baby on the 
second floor.” 

Apparently this was the best joke the family 
had ever heard. Marie, joining in the laughter, 
dealt out kisses to each and every one. Had a 
stranger looked in, he would have adjudged that 
the family was a highly affectionate one, and he 
would without hesitation have selected Marie 
as leading them all in wealth of love. 

When it came to the third dish of ice-cream, 
Julia balked. “I’ve had enough,” she said. 
“Say, Mother, may I have this to give away? 
Lily Robinson, Eileen’s classmate, has been 
sick three days.” 

Marie halted the spoon at her mouth. 

“Take mine, too.” 

“And mine,” said Eileen. 

There arose a contention—a friendly quarrel, 
so to speak—the result of which was that Lily 
Robinson received cakes and ice-cream enough 
to supply her brother and sister, while the 


72 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


Dowlings arose and said grace with that com¬ 
fortable feeling which waits upon a good appe¬ 
tite properly supplied. 

“Has it not been a wonderful day?” exclaimed 
the mother. “Think of our little Joe. He’s an 
awful tease; but he’s a real hero, and his sense 
of honor is high. And then think of Paul Fran¬ 
cis and of the friendship between Louis Davico 
and Joe; and what a wonderful feast for our 
little ones! Look at Marie; she looks like my 
little girl who five years ago as she went to holy 
Communion looked like an angel, because she 
was.” 

“Mother,” answered Peggy, her soft eyes 
lighted by love, “I’ve been thinking. Things are 
not so bad, after all. If you agree, I’ll stop 
piano lessons for the present; that will be a sav¬ 
ing of four dollars a week. All we need at pres¬ 
ent is food—” 

“You are wrong, child. If nothing happens 
in a week’s time the children will be in rags. 
But it is a shame for me to worry. As for our 
savings, God gave and God took away. Blessed 
be His name.” 

“Well,” said Peggy, looking at the clock, “it’s 
nearly nine o’clock. We might as well call it 
a day. There have been surprises enough.” 

But Peggy was wrong, she had hardly spoken 
the last word, when there came another knock¬ 
ing at the door. 


CHAPTER VII 


COLONEL BRIDWELL 

I N order to account for this knocking at the 
door, we must leave the Dowling family, 
situated in Cincinnati half-way up the 
hill known as Mount Adams, and, stopping at 
the Hotel Savoy on Sixth Street between Walnut 
and Vine, pause at the lobby. 

Seated together and in earnest conversation 
are Lord Bountiful and a gentleman of about 
sixty years of age, with prominent, bright, keen 
eyes, a closely-clipped gray moustache and close- 
cut white hair. He is, as always, faultlessly 
dressed. 

“If you hadn’t told me their names,” roared 
Colonel Robert, “I’d have known they were Irish. 
Can you beat it? I should say not. And that 
policeman—Smith was his name?” 

“The boys up there called him ‘Officer Kill¬ 
joy.’ ” 

The Colonel let out a roar, took a fat cigar 
from his pocket, lighted it, and gave three 
mighty puffs. 

“Tomorrow,” he resumed gravely, though he 
could not conceal the twinkle in his eye, “I’m 
going to call on my friend, Judge Lueders— 
Judge of the Probate Court, you know—and 
ask him to get Smith into his office and examine 
his head.” 

“Smith,” said Paul, “is no man to deal with 
73 


74 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


children. He’s not up to date. The policeman 
of today is a man who does everything to help 
the little folk along. In that way he can do 
more for law and order than in any other. If 
children love him, he gets the sympathies of 
father and mother. Fellows like Smith have no 
business on the force.” 

“Kindness,” philosophized the Colonel, “is 
mightier than clubs. That family lives on Baum 
Street, does it? Are they poor?” 

“They don’t think so. The children consider 
themselves quite wealthy. Their good mother 
—a lovely creature, Bob—is not quite so opti¬ 
mistic. She has a few dollars saved up in the 
bank, but I notice that the children are wearing 
dreadfully poor clothes}—though theyi are all 
clean and neat. The mother is a wonder. She 
must be about forty; her features are fine. She 
looks like a lady. She talks like one. Yet, do 
you know what she’s been doing since her hus¬ 
band went to the war and never returned?” 

“Telephone girl?” 

“No, sir; she’s cleaning and scrubbing seven 
hours a day and getting eight dollars a week.” 

“And they live on Baum Street?” 

“Yes.” 

“That’s in St. Xavier’s parish and Father 
Carney has charge of the school. Why doesn’t 
he know about this? He came meandering in 
here the other day wanting to get two thousand 
dollars to put up a room in a dormitory for the 
college. Isn’t that the limit? When it comes 
to the race of life, I put my money on the or¬ 
phans every time. I wouldn’t take a hundred- 
to-one shot on colleges.” 


COLONEL BRIDWELL 


75 


“Yes, Colonel, but we need colleges, too.” 

But the good Colonel, with a heart of gold, 
would hear nothing in favor of higher education. 

“G-o on,” he said; “you’ve been talking to 
Father Carney, too. Look out or I’ll have both 
your heads examined. Tomorrow I’ll get hold 
of Mrs. Dowling and see whether we can’t se¬ 
cure her a better place and more pay. Col¬ 
leges!” grunted the Colonel, and rising went 
over to a telephone booth. 

“Halloa!” cried the Colonel, having secured 
the telephone number. “That you, Mike? Fine 
weather for the Irish, isn’t it? Say, there’s a 
maverick named Smith, policeman in the second 
district. Oh, you know him?—He ought to be 
dumped into the river! I’ll say so too, with a 
ton of iron fastened to him. Well, while we’re 
waiting for a chance to drown him, couldn’t you 
have him moved? You did try? Try again. 
Get him out to patrol the liveliest cemetery you 
can find and put him on night duty. If you don’t, 
there’s going to be a riot on Baum Street. 
You’ll try? When? Tomorrow? Do it early; 
get up by daylight and see how the sun looks 
when it rises. All right. Good-bye, Mike, be 
good to yourself or nobody else will be.” 

The Colonel emerged from the telephone booth 
with a broad smile. 

“I’ve just got Mike Clancy interested. He 
runs that ward. Before you know it, Mr. Kill¬ 
joy will be patrolling a beat where he’ll have no 
chance of scaring children into fits. All the 
same, if I had my way, I’d send Killjoy into a 
house of foolishness, where they pad the walls; 


76 


LOUD BOUNTIFUL 


and I’d like to do the same thing to Father 
Carney, if he talks dormitories to me again.” 

The sudden change from tragedy to comedy in 
the Colonel’s remarks brought a loud laugh from 
Paul Francis. 

“Some day, Colonel, you’ll put up a whole 
building.” 

The Colonel grunted. 

“I think,” he said, “that it wouldn’t be a bad 
idea to send that boy in the gunny-sack some ice¬ 
cream—enough to set up the whole family.” 

“The ice-cream is there already,” said Paul 
Francis. 

“Aha!” chuckled the Colonel. “That’s quick 
action for a New Yorker. Mighty glad you 
thought of it.” The Colonel chewed at his cigar 
for a few minutes. 

“Say, come up to my room,” he said, jumping 
to his feet. 

Paul Francis, wondering, followed the agile 
Colonel up a flight of steps to the second floor. 
Making a swift turn, the Colonel threw open his 
door. “Step in,” he ordered, turning on the elec¬ 
tric light. 

“Oh, I say!” exclaimed Paul. “What’s this— 
a notion store?” 

In one swift glance, Paul took in the unex¬ 
pected vision. The room was crowded with 
shirts, stockings, skirts, waists, underlinen, caps, 
hats, toys and books. 

“What do you think of that?” asked the Col¬ 
onel, delighted with the wonder and enthusiasm 
which he perceived on the face of his visitor. 

“Colonel, are you going into business?” 

“I am in business,” returned the other 


COLONEL BRIDWELL 


77 


proudly. “And my business is to see that every 
dependent little child in Cincinnati gets a little 
joy and sunshine out of life. One of the great¬ 
est things I know of is to see little girls get all 
lighted up when they get something pretty to 
wear. They love colors. And get this, Paul, 
it’s all one to me whether they are Protestant, 
Catholic, Jew, black or white.” 

“I am sure,” said Paul Francis, “that when 
Our Lord was on earth and was asked by people 
to heal their infirmities, that he didn’t stop to 
ask about their race or religion. I envy you 
your wealth, Colonel. And yet, on coming to 
think of it, I don’t. No one could use it to 
much better purpose than you.” 

Then the Colonel proceeded to give the in¬ 
terested visitor an inventory of his stock and a 
list of the children’s institutions which were to 
be benefited. If the angels of the helpless little 
children residing in Cincinnati have the right 
to vote, the kind-hearted Colonel will get a re¬ 
served seat in halls of light where there is no 
poverty and colleges are unnecessary. 

“How,” said the Colonel, all lit up—to use 
his own phrase—with enthusiasm and good feel¬ 
ing, “would this fit that boy in the gunny-sack?” 
He held up a suit of clothes, “It’s a twelve-year- 
old suit.” 

“Colonel,” roared the younger man, “you don’t 
mean it?” 

“Where do you get that stuff? And what are 
the ages of those children?” 

Paul gave names and ages with startling ac¬ 
curacy. For half an hour, the Colonel busied 
himself selecting stockings, underlinen, shirt- 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


78 

;waists, caps, hats and other things that go to 
the comfort and adornment of boys and girls, 
at the end of which time there was stacked up 
a pile of goods which, with the single exception 
of shoes, was enough to keep the Dowlings, from 
mother down to little Frank, comfortably and 
presentably clothed till the advent of cold 
weather. 

“I suppose,” said Paul Francis, who could 
have hugged the Colonel, “that you’ll send them 
tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow!” repeated the Colonel. “Where 
do you get that stuff? Anyone could tell that 
you came from New York. It’s only”—the 
Colonel glanced at his watch—“half past eight 
now.” He caught up the telephone. “Hey! 
that you, Bill? Send up a messenger, and be 
quick about it. All right. Now we’ll have these 
things over before the family has gone to bed. 
What’s the sense in delaying?” 

“That’s true,” assented Paul Francis. 

“You went to college, didn’t you? 

“For two years.” 

“Humph,” grunted the Colonel, “that accounts 
for it. No colleges for mine, thank you.” 

“Colonel,” said Lord Bountiful, standing with 
his hand on the door-knob, “before I go, I want 
to make a suggestion. I’d like you to go and 
see your friend Judge Lueders, and have him ex¬ 
amine your head when you are talking about col¬ 
leges,” and with the last word, Lord Bountiful 
slipped out and hastened away, leaving the Col¬ 
onel booming out anathemas on higher educa¬ 
tion. 

On the following morning at the six o’clock 


COLONEL BRIDWELL 


79 


Mass, the Dowling family went to Communion 
in a body. Beside them at the altar railing 
knelt Louis Davico. “Not Solomon in all his 
glory,” mused Lord Bountiful, present also, 
“could have been better arrayed than one of 
these.” After proper thanksgiving, they de¬ 
parted from the church. 

One would think from their greetings that the 
Dowlings and Louis Davico had not seen Lord 
Bountiful for a year. This sprightly and joyous 
young man had some uncomfortable moments 
in parrying the questions aimed at him by Julia 
and Joe. But wild horses could not have drawn 
from him any information about the ice-cream 
and the packages of clothing. 

“Gee,” exclaimed Julia, “aren’t we rich?” 

“Yes, sir!” responded Paul. 

“Say, folks,” went on the girl, “I’m going to 
run on ahead and leave my five dollars at the 
Convent for my second China baby.” 

“I suppose,” observed Lord Bountiful gravely, 
“that if you were to send on some clothes for 
that China baby that you would call it China 
wear.” 

Julia, leaving in her wake a trail of laughter, 
ran on ahead, and presently gave with a heart 
full of joy and thanksgiving the five dollars to 
the Sister at the door of the Notre Dame Con¬ 
vent. She did not know—not, I believe, that 
she would have cared, had she known it—that 
with this gift she and her richly dressed family 
did not have on hand so much as one penny in 
the world. 


CHAPTER VIII 

MARIE AT HER BEST 

A nd now there came a great calm upon Baum 
Street. Everybody, so to speak, sat under 
his own vine and fig tree. One of the main 
topics for rejoicing among the leading residents 
was the new era of prosperity upon which the 
Dowling family appeared to have entered. 

“They must have given Peggy a big raise in 
salary,” said Mr. Patrick McKane. “Sure she’s 
worth twice anything they pay her, anyhow.” 

“That’s all very well,” said Jack O’Connell, 
the grocer of the street. “But if they are 
wealthy, they are putting all their wealth on 
their backs. That Marie goes promenading 
about like a peacock; and they’re all dressed 
fit to kill. But they owe me seven dollars and 
eightv-five cents for groceries, and for several 
days they have bought nothing at all!” 

“My daughter, Rosamond,” said Mr. Egan, 
“saw Julia coming up the steps from Lock Street 
this morning. She was carrying packages and 
a basket. They have changed their grocer, Mr. 
O’Connell.” 

Mr. Egan was right. Whether it arose from 
pride or from self-respect—let the reader de¬ 
cide—Mrs. Dowling did not wish that all her 
neighbors should know of the family’s destitute 
circumstances. So she had arranged with a 
80 


MARIE AT HER BEST 


81 


grocer on Lock Street to give her one week’s 
credit—the money due to be paid when she and 
Peggy received their wages. 

Peggy had given up her music lessons. Even 
so, out of her weekly pay envelope, five dollars 
went for an instalment on the piano. Then 
there were other debts outstanding, all long 
overdue. Night after night, Mrs. Dowling and 
Peggy discussed ways and means. They were 
laying plans to fight and conquer the wolf at the 
door. After long study and some intricate fig¬ 
uring, they saw their way clear. In two weeks’ 
time, they reasoned, they would be able with 
much economy in food to pay off all their debts, 
and, possibly, Peggy might once more resume 
her piano lessons. 

“It’s clear sailing, Mother,” said Peggy one 
evening, “provided that neither of us takes sick.” 

On the following day at two in the afternoon, 
a taxi arrived at the house in which dwelt the 
Dowlings; and two men helped Mrs. Dowling 
to her room. The worst had happened. Mrs. 
Dowling, calm, outwardly, took to her bed and 
kept it. She made no complaint, she uttered no 
sigh or groan; she did not even ask for a doctor. 
The children, excepting Peggy, were in no wise 
discouraged. In fact, they rejoiced to have their 
dear mother home. It is true they were quieter 
when in the room, for Mother was quite ner¬ 
vous. Nor were they permitted to stay long. 
Marie and Julia, while Peggy was at her office 
work, acted in turn as nurses. 

Marie had suddenly become literary. She 
announced on several occasions that it was the 
one ambition of her life to become an author. 


82 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


During the hours spent in the room with her 
mother, she wrote much and read more. Her 
writings she showed to no one. Julia was not 
interested; she gave the budding author small 
consideration. 

“If you were to write a book,” she informed 
Marie, “it would be no good—some mushy love 
story with a vamp and a lounge-lizard, the kind 
that catches your eye in the moving picture 
shows.” 

“Julia Dowling,” flashed Marie, “love is a 
beautiful thing!” 

“Oh, yes; I know. It makes the world go 
round.” 

“Yes!” put in Joe, who had entered in time 
to catch the theme of the conversation, “and it’s 
love that makes a lot of fool girls’ heads go 
round.” 

“Now, Joe,” sneered Marie, “you don’t come 
on in this act. Little boys know nothing of the 
most sacred and exalted feelings which raise one 
out of the—ch—the common rut of life, and 
cause them to—” 

Marie paused, unable to round off her ambi¬ 
tious sentence. 

“Marie means,” drawled Julia, “that boys of 
your age cannot appreciate puppy love,” where¬ 
upon Marie flounced out of the room. 

It is a regrettable fact that with the mother 
helpless in bed, the children wtere somewhat 
neglected. One of them consciously, the rest 
unconsciously, took advantage of the new free¬ 
dom. In spite of their nice new clothes, the little 
ones as the days went on began to look shabby. 
As for Marie, knowing what she did, she ran 


MARIE AT HER BEST 


83 


here and there and everywhere, and somehow or 
other contrived to attend two or three moving 
picture shows in the course of a week. The 
reader is not to think that the danger for Marie 
lay in her attending so often: it was the kind 
that she unvaryingly chose. Nothing would 
please the young lady which was not saturated 
with love; and if the screen-play threw in cab¬ 
aret scenes and balls and banquets and glimpses 
of high life, Marie was delighted beyond 
measure. 

In the meantime everything prospered with 
Joe. He and Louis Davico met daily at the Fen¬ 
wick. Lord Bountiful had suddenly left the 
city, but before leaving had taught Louis a new 
curve, and trained the boy in the matter of 
changing his speed. In addition to this, in those 
three happy mornings at the Fenwick Club gym¬ 
nasium he had instructed Joe to throw to the 
bases in such a way as to save almost half a 
second by eliminating unnecessary steps and 
motions. Joe and Louis were of the opinion 
that they were the best battery of their age and 
size in the city of Cincinnati, an opinion 
justified by several games in which they worked 
together. 

As the days wore on, Mrs. Dowling’s condi¬ 
tion remained apparently unchanged. She in¬ 
sisted that there was nothing the matter; she 
was simply weak and tired. She needed no 
doctor; she took no medicine. The children be¬ 
lieved her, although Peggy noticed that her 
mother was growing thinner and that despite all 
the days of rest, she was losing strength. 


84 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


On the eighth day of her illness, she received 
by mail the following note: 

“My dear Mrs. Dowling: 

“Through our mutual friend, Paul Francis, I have 
learned some very nice things about yourself and your 
children. Mr. Francis thinks that your present work 
is too heavy for you and that your wages are not what 
they ought to be. I have been looking around, and 
I have two or three positions to suggest, any one of 
which is better than what you have. If you could 
call at the Hotel Savoy this evening at seven o ’clock— 
I know you are busy during the day—I should be 
pleased to go over the matter with you. Keep up 
your courage! You will, if you always remember 
that you are Irish. 

“Yours truly, 

“Robert Bridwell.” 

At the moment Mrs. Dowling received this 
letter, Marie, Eileen and Frank were with her. 
Joe was building up muscle at the Fenwick; 
Julia had gone out to visit a sick friend. 

“Fine!” commented Marie. “Now, Mother, 
you can get a position that is much more digni¬ 
fied. You know, I’ve been ashamed to tell my 
friends what you were doing. I used to say 
that you were a room decorator.” 

The sick woman almost laughed. 

“Well, it was true. The way to decorate a 
room is to clean it and put everything in nice 
order.” 

“When the Blessed Virgin visited her cousin 
Elizabeth, Marie, she did just the kind of work 
I’m doing. The world looks on such work as 
humble and degrading. But we should not go 
by the standards of the world. When Mary 


MARIE AT HER BEST 


85 


lived with Elizabeth, she performed menial of¬ 
fices gladly out of love of her Son. All the days 
I have scrubbed and cleaned, strength was given 
me because I was working for my dear little 
children, and, because I liked to think that I 
was doing the work that the Mother of God 
did, too.—But as regards this letter, what am 
I to do? No doubt, I’ll be all right in a few 
days. I hardly feel able to write—” 

“Mother,” said Marie, perceptibly softened by 
the words of the sick woman, “I’ve an idea. 
Suppose you let me go over and see Mr. Brid- 
well? I’ll tell him how much obliged you are 
for his kindness, and that you are a little under 
the weather, but that in two or three days you 
will come to see him yourself.” 

Mrs. Dowling considered. 

“I’ll come straight home, Mother.” 

“And you’ll be careful, dear, to keep to your¬ 
self?” 

“I give you my word, Mother,” promised 
Marie, flushing a little, “that I’ll speak to no¬ 
body—at least, to no stranger.” 

Marie gave little time to the mirror that morn¬ 
ing. She was thinking, as she arranged her¬ 
self, of her mother doing the same work as Mary. 
It softened her. She left the house with the 
face and the gait of an innocent child. 

The Colonel was an excellent reader of char¬ 
acter. He was delighted with the sweet, simple 
girl. Her manners were excellent. Marie was 
really grateful to the Colonel for his kindness. 
She said so, and she said it well. She smiled, 
and, reacting to the kind gentleman’s sympathy, 
she smiled angelically. The child was really 


86 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


beautiful, and on this occasion looked her best. 
When the Colonel took her hand and bade her 
a kindly farewell, she gazed into his face with 
eyes shining with the light of love. 

“Fll be expecting her in a few days, Marie. 
Tell her not to worry. Fll have a place kept 
open. By the way, Fll go out with you. I’ve 
an idea.” 

As they slipped out of the lobby on to the 
sidewalk, Marie with a simplicity, genuine, 
yet which, had her best friends seen her, would 
have evoked mild surprise, slipped her hand 
confidently into the ColonePs. He was touched. 

“Heye we go,” he said, turning into the candy- 
shop, which was on the premises of the hotel 
building. 

“Give me a five pound box of your best choco¬ 
lates and a pint of ice-cream. The ice-cream, 
Marie, is for your mother. Sick people,” he 
explained, “like ice-cream. I like it, sick or well, 
myself. Say, there, make it two pints. That,” 
he added to Marie, “will be enough to treat the 
family.” 

The ColonePs orders were filled with a dis¬ 
patch which would have excited the envy of any 
Chicago concern. Everybody in the shop knew 
the Colonel. He was the landlord. 

“You may charge it,” said the Colonel airily, 
“to the Chief of Police and send the bill to His 
Honor, the Mayor.” 

They walked out leaving the employees in a 
grin. 

“One more place,” pursued the Colonel, “and 
I’ll let you shift for yourself. Here we are.” 

They turned into an oyster house. 


MARIE AT HER BEST 


87 


“One pint of your best oysters,” he called out 
before they were well within the door. “Oh, 
that’s a fact! This is July. Oysters are no good 
now. People ought not to get sick in summer, 
Marie. I’m afraid we are in the wrong shop.” 

“What’s your trouble, Colonel?” asked the 
proprietor of the place, a young man with a face 
on which keenness and geniality were nicely 
blended. 

“Whenever any one is sick,” said the youthful 
old gentleman, “I just naturally think of oysters 
and ice-cream. I must be getting old.” 

“Indeed, you’re not,” protested Marie, vehe¬ 
mently. 

It was an unstudied but effective compliment. 

“If you’ll allow me to suggest something,” 
said the proprietor smiling, “I happen to have on 
hand as fine a piece of beefsteak as you can 
buy, borrow or steal in this city. I got it for 
a friend of mine—a special beefsteak for him 
this morning; but he was called away at mid¬ 
night. If it’s for a sick person—” 

“It is—a sick woman,” said the Colonel. 

“Then some good angel sent you in.” 

“Maybe it was the Little Flower,” suggested 
Marie. 

“Here, Al, go down and get that piece of 
steak,” called the pleasant young man to a 
waiter, “and be quick about it.” 

Then there arose a scrap between the two 
men, the Colonel insisting on paying, the other 
refusing to receive a cent. By the time the 
Colonel had won out, the waiter returned. 

“Now mind you, Marie,” said the white-haired 
youth of sixty, with an insight which was un- 


88 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


canny, “yonr mother is to eat this steak—every 
bit of it. Tell her those are my orders.” 

“Yes, sir,” assented the puzzled girl. 

Somehow, some way, the Colonel had figured 
out, as Marie received the package, that Mrs. 
Dowling, if left to her own inventions, would 
portion out the beefsteak among the children and 
feast herself upon their happiness; which is pre¬ 
cisely what would have happened. 

“Who’ll cook it?” went on the practical gentle¬ 
man. 

“I could, sir,” smiled Marie; “but I’ve a sister 
Julia who is as good in the kitchen as Mother. 
She’ll be home when I get there, and she’ll 
prepare it at once.” 

“Good-bye, then,” said the Colonel, as they 
arrived at the corner of Sixth and Walnut. The 
kind man might have accompanied the lovely 
creature all the way home; but, for some reason, 
unknown to his most intimate friends, Colonel 
Bridwell never went farther unless under strain 
of dire necessity in that direction. 

Marie, had she followed her impulse, would 
have thrown herself into his arms. But apart 
from the fact that they were in the heart of a 
thronged section of the city, she was handi¬ 
capped by three packages. So she contented 
herself with a graceful curtsey, a winning smile 
and a look of love. 

“Upon my word,” mused the Colonel, as he 
retraced his steps, “if I am a judge of human 
nature that girl is as sweet, as kind, as simple, 
as loving as any girl of her age in this town.” 

In one sense he was wholly wrong; in another 
he was perfectly right. He was an excellent 


MARIE AT HER BEST 


89 


judge of human nature. He saw the child as 
she was at that moment; she was at the moment 
exactly as he had appraised her. 

Marie, with the light of affection and grati¬ 
tude shining in her eyes, moved briskly on. She 
was thinking of the Little Flower and the 
Colonel. Of course, it was the Little Flower 
who had set aside the beefsteak for Mother. 
There could be no doubt of it; it was Thursday, 
the day her mother had chosen to honor the child 
saint. Thus thinking, Marie tripped along light- 
footed, airy, with a step so shy, rhythmical and 
gay, that it was almost a dance movement. 

“What a fairy-like child,” observed a woman 
to her companion. 

“Graceful as a bird,” commented the other. 

Marie heard the words and saw the admiring 
faces of the two women. She felt a glow of 
exaltation pervading her whole person. She 
flushed prettily. But using all her will power, 
she forced her mind back to the thought of that 
sweetest little child of modern times, the Little 
Flower. It was a hard struggle. One moment 
ago, her heart burned as she thought of little 
Therese of Lisieux. But now the fires within 
were in a second reduced to a dull. glow. In a 
moment nothing but ashes would remain. 

“Say, Bill, look. Isn’t she a beaut’?” A 
young man, the sort one finds infesting corners 
where pedestrians are thickest, the sort for the 
reason of whose existence an all merciful and 
wise God can alone account, made this remark 
to one of his kind. 

“She’s a peacherino, all right,” responded Bill 
in a voice intended to reach Marie’s ears. 


90 LORD BOUNTIFUL 

J 

Let it be said to the credit of the child that 
she neither turned toward them nor in any way 
gave evidence that she heard. But her person 
was stirred by a mighty glow of exaltation. 
She was beautiful: she knew it. Alas for the 
Little Flower! Marie grew self-conscious. Oh, 
those annoying packages! Were her hands free, 
she could powder her nose and pat her hair. 
What a shame, she had neglected to put on a 
pair of earrings. Her gait changed to a mincing 
one. In a word, poor little Marie was her old 
self again. 


CHAPTER IX 


JOE AND JULIA STAGE A PLAY 

W hen Marie entered, Joe and Julia hastily 
put aside some papers, over which for 
half an hour they had been poring, and 
hastened to greet her with an effusion which 
was suspicious. The exhibition of the ice¬ 
cream and the box of candies aroused hilar¬ 
ity. The steak—for mother only—raised that 
hilarity to the point of ecstasy. Quickly did 
the neat-handed Julia complete the task as¬ 
signed her. She had not forgotten her cooking, 
though it had been many a week since fresh 
meat of any kind had entered the door. At the 
rich savor of the broiled steak, the smaller 
children began to look faint. Julia took in the 
situation. 

“Marie,” she drawled, “serve the ice-cream, 
please. We’ll all eat together.” 

Mrs. Dowling ate the steak—every bit of it. 
Julia stood by and remained obdurate when the 
good woman would have made the greater part 
of it over to the children, who, to do them jus¬ 
tice, were so regaled by the ice-cream and a lib¬ 
eral allowance of chocolates that they bore the 
loss with jubilation. 

The young cook showed herself the equal of 
any one in the devouring of chocolates; but she 
ate little ice-cream—only one heaping dish. 
She saved a second. 


91 


92 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“I think,” she observed, “that little Hester 
Jones, whom I visited just a while ago, would 
like this.” 

“Why not run over and give it to her?” asked 
Marie. 

“Fve just been there, Marie; you haven’t paid 
her a visit yet.” 

“That’s right,” added Joe, showing unaccount¬ 
able eagerness. 

“You ought to go see her, Marie. You’re a 
friend of the family.” 

“Very well,” said Marie, recalling that Hes¬ 
ter’s elder sister would be an interested listener 
were she told of that morning’s walk and the 
comments made by the two ladies and the two 
young men. “I’ll go; but I’ll return in half an 
hour at the latest.” It was now noontime. 

“Don’t be in a hurry, Marie,” said Julia. 

“You ought to take your sewing along,” added 
Joe, kindly. 

When the fair maiden departed, Joe and Julia 
exchanged meaning glances. 

“If you please, Mother,” said Julia, “Joe and 
I will go into the back room. We are working 
at something. We’ll be on hand any time you 
want us.” 

Marie did not return until two o’clock in the 
afternoon, nearly two hours late, much to the 
comfort of her two immediate juniors. When 
she entered, their mother was sleeping peace¬ 
fully. Eileen and Frank were ornamenting the 
street with their presence, while Joe and his 
fellow-conspirator were awaiting her in great 
good humor. 


STAGING A PLAY 93 

“We’re glad,” Julia observed, “that you had 
a good long visit.” 

“Even if you did talk everybody’s arm off,” 
said Joe. “Say, Marie, if you don’t mind, Julia 
and I will take a walk on Baum Street. 

“So far as I am concerned,” answered Marie, 
“the longer you stay out—both of you—the bet¬ 
ter I’ll like it.” 

“Gosh!” cried Joe, as they hurried down the 
stairs, “but won’t we take a rise out of her to¬ 
night.” 

That evening, the supper over, the dishes done, 
Peggy, sitting beside her mother, exclaimed: 

“Why, Mother, you look ever so much better.” 

“I feel decidedly better, dear. I’m sure I’m 
beginning to get well.” 

This announcement was received with con¬ 
siderable interest. Joe and Julia were the loud¬ 
est in their expressions. Then they proceeded 
to whisper together. 

“There are no secrets in this house,” said 
Marie, suspiciously. 

“That’s right, Marie,” Joe made meek answer. 
“Say, Mother, Julia and I have arranged a little 
act. Wouldn’t you like us to give it?” 

“If you two made it up,” observed Marie, “it 
can’t be much.” 

“I believe Marie is right,” said Julia, with a 
judicial air. “But we did not make it up—only 
part of it. Most of it is the work of some other 
people. Mother, may we?” 

“Certainly, children. I’m sure we shall be 
interested.” 

And they certainly were. 

The young Thespians retired to “make up.” 


94 


LOED BOUNTIFUL 


In ten minutes they were ready, Eileen was 
called in, and, returning shortly, clapped her 
hands. 

“Ladies!” she said, “the play to be staged is 
entitled, ‘A Love Story out of Whole Cloth’.” 

Into the room stepped Julia—her hair was 
done up, her cheeks and lips beautifully car- 
mined. If the pendants from her ears did not 
complete the illusion that she was a flapper, a 
pair of unbuttoned goloshes removed all pos¬ 
sible doubt. As with mincing steps she slowly 
advanced, one hand was held jauntily against 
her side, the other was employed in powder¬ 
ing her nose. Suddenly there appeared, com¬ 
ing upon her from the side, Joe. He wore a 
cane, a flower in his coat. On seeing Marie, 
he stopped, stared and rubbed his eyes. 

“Lovely creature!” he cried. 

“Te-he-he,” giggled Julia, idiotically. “He 
must mean me. There is no one else in this vast 
crowd to whom he can possibly refer. Ho you 
mean me, sir?” 

“On seeing you, I was carried away by a love 
so deep that it must find some outlet. I must 
speak.” 

“Te-he-he,” simpered Julia. “I’ll be glad to 
listen. Oh!”—in an aside—“isn’t he sweet.” 

“Your eyes,” continued Joe, “pencilled above 
with a pencil that Eubens might envy, crowned 
with lashes that no artist could depict, are win¬ 
dows looking into fairyland—beautiful eyes, 
eyes that once seen would make an old man mad 
with love.” 

“How could he know that?” simpered the 
flapper. 

“Your ears,” continued Joe, clasping his 


STAGING A PLAY 


95 


hands and rolling his eyes heavenward, “are 
pink shells, fit to hear the praises of your over¬ 
whelming beauty.” 

“Te-he-he,” giggled Julia. “I can hear all 
right. Fm listening.” 

“And your face—your lovely face—home of 
lilies and roses—it is the fairest that ever sun 
shone on.” 

“How accurately he describes me,” said Julia 
with a smile and a facial expression which gave 
her an air of idiotic joy. “Fair sir, pray con¬ 
tinue. Do you really mean it?” 

“Your mouth is perfect—lips red as the heart 
of a ruby; teeth pearls of priceless value; a smile 
so bewitching that to win it the world were well 
lost.” 

“How well he describes me,” simpered Julia. 
“He must be a wonderful observer to get in all 
these details in a single glance. How little he 
has overlooked. Go on, dear sir; you interest 
me strangely.” 

“Fairest of maidens, the lights of heaven be¬ 
come mean when compared with your dazzling 
beauty. The silvery moon confronted with your 
shining orbs pales into insignificance. O love¬ 
liest of damosels, be mine, be mine.” 

“Sir,” answered Julia, “your words are of 
honey; and I like you well. But how much are 
you earning a week?” 

Marie, unobserved by the others, had gone 
pale, bitten her lips, and shown throughout the 
performance unusual agitation. Now she arose 
and, stepping between the two, blazed out: 

“You wicked, wicked children. What do you 
mean by reading my letters?” 


96 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“There are no secrets in this house,” mumbled 
Joe, somewhat appalled by the girl’s anger. 

“You give them back!” ordered Marie. 

“Here they are—the measly things.” And 
Joe pulled from his pocket some folded papers. 

“Mother,” explained Julia. “Joe did not make 
up his part. He just learned parts of those love 
letters to Marie by heart. I made up my own 
part by myself. There were four letters signed 
by four different men. The strange thing about 
it is that all four men used the same style of 
letter paper and all used a typewriter.” 

“Mother,” flared Marie, “am I to have no one 
to stand by me? Joe and Julia have been posi¬ 
tively insulting. It’s a—it’s an outrage.” 

“But, Marie, my dear child, how could you 
receive letters from young men—love letters, 
too—and keep it a secret from your own 
mother?” 

Marie, filled with rage and fear, hung her 
head, but made no answer. 

“And then, too,” went on the mother, in her 
excitement sitting up in bed, “can it be that un¬ 
known to me you have been answering such let¬ 
ters?” 

“No, Mother,” protested Marie promptly, “I 
have not answered a single one.” 

“Oh!” exclaimed Julia. “I think I under¬ 
stand,” she drawled. “I see it all now. Marie 
has written those lovely, mushy letters to her¬ 
self.” 

Marie became very pale, her jaw dropped, and 
perspiration broke out upon her face. 

“She certainly does love herself all right,” con¬ 
tinued Julia, her eyes fixed on the floor and 


STAGING A PLAY 97 

her brow wrinkled in thought. “And now I un¬ 
derstand Marie’s idea in becoming an author. 
She wants to spend her spare time in writing 
love letters to herself. Isn’t that silly?” 

Poor Marie could bear no more. 

“You mean > contemptible sneaks/’ she began, 

111 never, never forgive you as long as I live. 
I’ll ney er speak to you two again. Oh!” she 
wailed, “I’m ashamed.” 

All were startled. The guilty Thespians were 
actually frightened. The astonishing thing of 
it all was Marie’s declaration that she was 
ashamed! When a flapper is ashamed, some 
awful catastrophe has fallen upon her. 

Before any one could rise to this most unusual 
situation, Marie uttered a heartrending wail 
and rushed from the room. 

“Poor child!” exclaimed Peggy, running from 
beside her mother’s feet, and following after her. 

Joe and Julia looked at each other soberly. 

“Say, Mother,” said Joe. “I thought this 
thing was going to be real funny. But it isn’t. 
I feel as if I had been chief mourner at a fun¬ 
eral.” 

“The trouble is,” said Julia, “that we’ve been 
too funny. How stupid of us not to have seen 
through those fake letters! They were typed on 
the same machine, the paper was the same; even 
the names of the men supposed to have written 
them were typewritten. Joe and I thought they 
were genuine love letters.” 

“Hot stuff!” put in Joe. “I spent nearly three 
hours in learning them by heart. And all along 
I couldn’t for the life of me see how any man 


98 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


with a head large enough to wear a hat could 
write such stuff. Oh, wasn't it sloppy?" 

“Of course," continued Julia, pursuing her 
analysis, “if the letters really had come from a 
bunch of silly boys, it would not have been so 
hard on Marie. I don't know much about that 
sort of thing, but I fancy that there isn't a 
flapper in the whole world who would be put to 
shame on account of her mushy old collection 
of love letters being seen by other people. I 
think they'd like it. And then, of course, we 
thought they had come through the mail while 
you were lying here sick, Mother. And now, 
we've hurt Marie's feelings very much." 

“Yes," said Joe, ruefully, “we've rubbed it in 
too hard. We've made a fool of her." 

“I'm sorry from the bottom of my heart," de¬ 
clared the girl. 

“Me, too," said Joe. “Say, Mother, it was all 
my fault. When Marie went off this morning, 
she must have forgotten to hide those writings 
of hers away. They were lying open on her shelf 
before that looking glass of hers; and when my 
eye fell upon one and saw the words, ‘Miss Marie 
Dowling, Lovely Creature,' I couldn't help read¬ 
ing on. You see, I wondered what anybody who 
would call her a lovely creature would have to 
say. Anyhow, Mother, I'm guilty—don't blame 
Julia." 

“I'm just as guilty as Joe," protested Julia. 
“I made up all my part—sillier than her letters." 

“But I started it," argued Joe. “Mother, I 
feel guilty. I think I deserve a paddling. You 
can't do that now, but please scold me." 

“Yes, do; and me, too, Mother," implored the 


99 


STAGING A PLAY 

girl. “We’ve not only hurt Marie’s feelings 
very much, but I can see that in hurting her 
we have hurt you. Go on, Mother.” 

“My children,” said the mother, “I know you 
are sorry, and I know you are going to do every¬ 
thing in your power to make up.” 

“We sure are—aren’t we, Julia? If I thought 
it would help, I should be glad to let Marie walk 
over me and kick me with every step. But you 
are not scolding us.” 

“She never will, Joe,” admonished Julia, “if 
you won’t give her a chance to say a word. Go 
on, Mother.” 

“I’m afraid, children, that you really have 
hurt Marie’s feelings dreadfully. The best of 
us have some pride: you have wounded her 
pride. I’m afraid that just now Marie is going 
through the bitterest hour in her life.” 

“Gosh!” Joe almost whimpered. “I wish some 
one would kick me—and do it good and hard. 
Go on, Mother.” 

“Perhaps,” continued the invalid, “this may 
bring you both to see something that I have tried 
to point out to you many and many a time. 
Neither of you shows enough respect for your 
older sister.” 

“That’s so,” assented the boy. “She’s older, 
and she ought to have more sense than us—” 

“Yes; but she, hasn’t,” declared the judicial 
Julia. “And she’s not lonesome in her silliness 
either. I know lots of girls of sixteen who 
haven’t near the sense they had when they were 
thirteen. Anyhow, she’s older—that’s sure. Go 
on, Mother.” 

“You have both touched upon a real difficulty, 


100 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


my children. It would be nonsense for me to 
say that Marie is more sensible than she was two 
years ago. And she certainly does and says 
things which you are almost bound to laugh at. 
There’s the difficulty; if you take her seriously, 
you confirm her in her foolish ways and notions. 
If you poke fun at her, there’s the danger of go¬ 
ing too far. It is my hope that Marie is passing 
through a sort of transition. How she will turn 
out, only God knows. She is at a dangerous 
period. You can’t encourage her; and yet, there 
is one great, one terrible danger if you go too 
far in teasing.” 

“What is that, Mother?” asked Julia. 

“It is just in a line with what has now hap¬ 
pened. You may lose her love. Love is her 
strong and her weak point. Marie is made to 
love much. She has love enough in her dear 
little heart, however foolish it is, to make a great 
saint or—” here the fond mother broke down. 
The tears fell from her eyes, and, as in making 
the last declaration she had partly raised her¬ 
self in bed, coursed down her cheeks. 

“Aw! Don’t cry, Mother!” blubbered Joe. 

“I do love her! I always have, I always will!” 
protested Julia between sobs. “Come on, Joe; 
we’ll go in, and make her forget and I’ll keep a 
civil tongue in my head, and tomorrow morning 
I’ll go to confession.” 

“So will I,” said Joe, mastering his emotion. 
“Come on, Julia. We’ll bring her back her let¬ 
ters and let her walk all over us.” Whereupon 
the two penitents went off to make their humble 
apologies. 

They found Marie lying face down on a couch. 


STAGING A PLAY 


101 


Beside her Peggy was seated, stroking the girl’s 
hair, and using what words of comfort she conld 
devise. At the sound of their footsteps Marie 
lifted her head, revealing a tear-stained and ut¬ 
terly woe-begone face. At the sight of her two 
enemies, her face hardened. She arose, and was 
about to say something decidedly unpleasant, 
no doubt, when Julia forestalled her. 

“Marie! Marie!” she implored. “I’m more 
ashamed of myself than you are. For I do love 
you, Marie, and I’ve hurt you instead of show¬ 
ing my love. I’ve been awful.” 

The hard look passed away from Marie’s face; 
wonder succeeded. 

“And that’s the way I feel, myself,” said Joe. 
“Here are those letters. Take ’em, Marie; and 
do what you please with them. The English of 

them, ” continued Joe in a burst of inspiration, 
“is just fine.” 

The wonder on Marie’s face remained, but her 
expression became softer. 

“I don’t ask you to forgive me, Marie—not 
now, but,” here Joe turned a rigid cheek, “I’d 
appreciate it very much if you would smash me 
one or two on the jaw with all your might.” 

The tragedy was gone from Marie’s features, 
a latent smile, touched her mouth and her eyes. 

“I’ll do no such thing, Joe,” she spoke gently. 

“You won’t? Then—” another inspiration 
seized upon Joe. He darted down upon Marie, 
threw his arms around her neck, kissed her; 

then, blushing hotly, stood aside and hung his 
head. Julia, taking his cue, did likewise. Then 
Marie, smiling and rosy, stood up and caught 
the two in her arms. 


102 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“Oh,” she exclaimed, “Pm so glad you love 
me. You are just the dearest—” Marie com¬ 
pleted this sentence with a kiss for Julia and a 
hug for Joe, who, in view of the occasion, bore 
the infliction like a hero. 

There is a power in humiliation which, taken 
in one way, may break one’s spirit; taken in an¬ 
other, may make for new and unexpected 
strengthening of character. Marie drank her 
bitter potion sweetened by love. She was very 
presently her old, her finest self once more. 
For several minutes the three babbled away as 
though there were no such thing as misery and 
heart-burning and sin in the world. 

Peggy, having seen enough to show her de¬ 
light in changed conditions, had gone over to 
the window which looked down on the glittering 
lights of the city below. 

“Look at Peggy,” whispered Julia. “There’s 
something wrong with her.” 

Marie arose and lightly tripped over to her 
big sister. 

“Peggy,” she said wistfully, “you’ve been cry¬ 
ing. You know you have. It’s all my fault. 
You sat with me for I don’t know how long and 
you petted me, and you said such nice things. 
But I was so angry and hurt and so foolish that 
I wouldn’t notice you. But I was listening; and 
I heard you, and I was loving you all the time. 

you’re the best girl in the world, and I’m 
the meanest.” And Marie threw her arms about 
her sister. 

t For a few moments, Peggy’s lovely face 
twitched with an emotion which was too hard to 
control. 


STAGING A PLAY 


103 


“It isn’t that, Marie. It’s, it’s something else. 
Sit down with Joe and Julia. I must tell you.” 

The three, seated together on the sofa, looked 
at their elder sister with blanched faces. They 
had never seen Peggy sad and almost broken 
before. ' 

“Children, keep this from Mother. She is ill. 
I have lost my position.” 

“It can’t be!” gasped Julia. 

“What!” quavered Marie. 

“Work is slack. They had to thin the office 
force, and, as I am the youngest in point of 
service, I’m laid off until business improves.” 

“And that means?” asked Joe. 

“It means that we’ve nothing to live on.” 

“But what about Mother’s bank account?” 
asked Julia. 

“That has been wiped out, too. With my sal¬ 
ary, which they paid me up to the last of this 
week, we have just enough to pay what we owe 
including rent, with fifty cents over to buy food.” 

The three children gazed at each other help¬ 
lessly. 

“Why didn’t we know we were so poor be¬ 
fore?” asked Joe. 

“Mother and I knew, but we had hoped to 
make out. Now I am no longer an earner, and 
Mother may not be able to do anything for 
some time.” 

“I feel,” observed Julia, “like a China baby, 
‘It’s not so bad.’ ” 

In spite of themselves, her listeners began to 
smile. 

“I’ll tell you what,” went on the precocious 


104 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


child, “here’s an idea! Let’s start a novena to 
the Little Flower!” 

“Good,” cried Joe, while the others nodded 
their heads. “And let’s make it snappy. That 
is, I mean, let’s begin at once.” 

“That would be lovely,” said Marie. “Do you 
think the beads every night would be enough, 
Joe?” 

“Sure! And throw in the Litany, too. We 
have no time to lose. This family is badly 
mussed up, and it’s got to be—to be—” 

“Ironed out!” suggested Julia. 

“That’s it. It’s got to be ironed out mighty 
quick, and the sooner we get the Little Flower 
on the job the better.” 

After further consideration of ways and 
means, the quartet, smiling, gay, arm in arm, 
filed in and ranged themselves about their 
mother’s bed. 

“Well, Mother,” said Peggy, “they’ve all 
kissed and made up.” 

“It is literally true,” added Julia. 

“And, Mother,” said Joe, “we’re going to start 
a novena right now for your recovery and for 
everything we need. It’s to the Little Flower. 
Will you join us?” 

“How nice! Of course. How about Frank 
and Eileen?” 

These two cherubs, having early lost interest 
in that most unsuccessful play, “A Love Story 
out of Whole Cloth,” had slipped out into the 
passage-way, where they had been amusing them¬ 
selves with a number of games, some being of 
their own invention. On being called in and 
asked to take part, they showed themselves com- 


STAGING A PLAY 


105 


plimented, and with alacrity sank upon their 
knees, answering the prayers in tones that were 
within a little of bringing about a disturbance 
of the peace. 

Next morning at about nine, Father Carney 
called. He had heard, he explained, that Mrs. 
Dowling was ill. Father Carney in his way was 
quite as sharp as the Colonel. How neat the 
rooms were, how clean! He did not know that 
in an excess of zeal, Marie had given hours to 
scrubbing and cleaning, aided therein by Julia. 
And how clean and fresh the children looked! 
How well they were dressed! He had feared 
that with the mother’s illness poverty might have 
been pinching them. He had brought along 
twenty dollars, prepared to leave it. But the 
Dowlings were clearly quite prosperous. No, 
he would leave nothing. Why risk hurting their 
feelings? 

“Oh, Father Carney,” said Eileen, “last night 
we started to make a novena to the Little Flower. 
I’m making it best of all. I say the prayers 
loudest.” 

“You don’t,” contradicted Frank. “I beat 
you.” 

Father Carney interrupted the brisk argu¬ 
ment that ensued by informing the two inno¬ 
cents that in the matter of prayer earnestness 
counted more than shouting, thereby saving, no 
doubt, the other inhabitants of that house from 
an impending disturbance. 

“I suppose,” he added, “that it’s for your 
mother’s recovery.” 

“Yes,” said Frank, “and stuff like that.” 

“Marie,” said the priest, looking kindly on the 


106 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


child who, flushing with delight, caught his prof¬ 
fered hand eagerly, “whenever I see you, I al¬ 
ways think of the Little Flower.” 

“Oh, Father,” exclaimed Marie, charmed with 
a new beauty, “you can’t mean it. I’m not like 
her at all.” 

“In one important respect you are—exactly 
like her.” 

“What is that, Father?” 

“It is the power of loving. It’s a wondrous 
power, and if it be worked right, it means sanc¬ 
tity. But I’m afraid of it sometimes. If love 
gets into the wrong channels, it means destruc¬ 
tion. May you try to be like her!” 

“I will, Father.” 

“I say,” drawled Julia, “the Little Flower has 
started to work already.” 

“How so?” asked the smiling priest. 

“She sent you to visit Mother, and your bless¬ 
ing will surely help her to get well.” 

“I hope so,” said the priest. 

As he left the house with Marie clinging to his 
hand, an impulse seized him. 

“Here, Marie,” he said, drawing out a five- 
dollar gold piece, “do you remember winning a 
prize in a foot-race last spring?” 

“Yes, Father.” 

“And I overlooked giving you the prize.” 

“No, Father, you surely did not; you gave 
me a scapular medal.” 

“That was a mistake,” said the subtle Jesuit, 
“it was no sort of prize for such a performance. 
The fact of the matter is, I was dead broke at 
the time. Take this and give it to your mother.” 

“Oh, thank you, Father,” said Marie, gushing 


STAGING A PLAY 107 

with joy and love. She looked at the gold piece 
then turned around. 

“What’s the matter, Marie?” 

“I thought,” she answered, “that the Little 
Flower was behind me.” 

“Who knows?” 

The laugh of Father Carney rang out clear, 
as he hastened down the steps. Very presently 
he sobered. 

“I suppose,” he meditated, “I’ve made a fool 
of myself again. Just because those children 
are good and lovely—for I’m sure Marie in spite 
of her foolishness is good—I hand out a gold 
piece. I’m old enough to have more sense. 
There’s no fool like an old fool.” 

At the ^ame moment, Colonel Robert w&s 
signing his name to the following note: 

4 ‘My Dear Mrs. Dowling: 

“I thought yesterday that I was presenting you 
with a choice bit of steak, but the idiot whom I 
forced to take the payment for it returned the money 
by the first mail this morning. As I do not want to 
sail under false colors, I am sending you another and, 
I hope, a better piece. It is for you—one fourth 
of it—and the rest is for your lovely children, as I 
suppose they are, if they are anything like Marie. 
I’m an incurable old bachelor—old enough to be 
Marie’s grandfather. Were I thirty years younger, 
I’d have proposed to her on sight. When you are 
well, call on me, and I think I can fix you up. 

‘ ‘ Respectfully, 

“Bob.” 

“I hope,” mused the Colonel, as he sealed the 
envelope, “that Father Carney doesn’t get a view 
of this. He’ll think I’m a sentimental old idiot. 


108 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


Maybe he’s right. And like as not, he’ll wonder 
why I’ll do nothing for Catholic colleges. Well, 
even if they don’t need it, there’s no harm done. 
And if it’s a blunder, it’s a blunder on the side 
of the angels.” 

Thus did the two amiable old gentlemen re¬ 
proach themselves for their foolish sentimental¬ 
ity. They did not suspect that behind their 
supposed blunders were unseen powers. 


CHAPTER X 


THE LITTLE FLOWER SENDS A FEW ROSES 

T he wonderful novena which began on Thurs¬ 
day did seem to start invisible forces into 
action. On Friday, as we have seen, came 
Father Carney with his blessing and cheer, also 
a gold piece, which he gave against his better 
judgment to Marie. Also, Colonel Robert sent 
beefsteak enough to give the whole family a 
square meal. 

Now there arose a serious difficulty. The 
Colonel, who never ate meat on Friday himself, 
did not somehow or other think of the Dowlings 
in connection with the law of abstinence. Mrs. 
Dowling pointed out the difficulty to the exult¬ 
ing children. What was to be done? They had 
no means of holding the meat over. Ice was a 
luxury; an ice chest unthinkable. Marie, going 
to a neighbor’s, called Father Carney on the tele¬ 
phone. 

“Father Carney,” she explained, “you know it 
is Friday, and that Mother is sick. Now there 
has been sent us a supply of meat for today’s 
dinner. We have no means of holding it over 
till tomorrow, and we don’t like to waste it.” 

Marie did not state that meat was almost as 
rare in their home as champagne and truffles. 
“What are we to do, Father?” 

Now, explain it as you will, this is what hap- 
109 


110 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


pened to Father Carney. Thinking only of the 
law of abstinence from meat on days other than 
Friday, recalling that on such days of absti¬ 
nence families where the bread winner did hard 
work were allowed the use of meat at one meal, 
he promptly answered: 

“No trouble at all. Use that meat at dinner 
today, and I hope you’ll all enjoy it. Good-bye.” 

Saying this, Father Carney hung up the re¬ 
ceiver, recalling in the act that he had been 
confusing the laws of Friday abstinence with 
those of other days of abstinence. 

He removed the receiver again; and vainly 
tried to catch Marie. She was gone. 

“What can be the matter with me?” he asked 
himself. “This is the second time in two days 
that Marie Dowling has upset me. Yesterday 
I lost my judgment; and today I’ve lost my 
brains. It’s perfectly absurd to tell a healthy 
family to eat meat on Friday just because the 
mother is sick. Now, let me see: who is there 
living on Baum Street near the Dowlings who 
has a telephone? I must correct that state¬ 
ment.” 

Taking up the telephone directory, ;Father 
Carney set about finding the proper call of Pat¬ 
rick McKane when the porter of the parish house 
addressed him. 

“Father Carney, there is an urgent sick call, 
and the priest on duty is out attending an¬ 
other.” 

An urgent sick call! When a priest hears 
those words, he forgets everything else and goes 
forth with all haste to help and strengthen a 
soul in the supreme moment. Father Carney 


A FEW ROSES 


111 


thought no more of the Dowling case that morn¬ 
ing: in consequence of which the little family 
enjoyed a banquet, which, God knows, they sadly 
needed. Once more had the good priest blun¬ 
dered into the right course of action. 

On Saturday, the third day of the novena, 
Mrs. Dowling announced that she felt ever so 
much better. 

“The Little Flower is working for us,” said 
Joe, gleefully. 

“And I feel sure,” said Marie, now the model 
child of the family, “that she will keep it up.” 

“I think,” observed Julia, “that the thing 
that’s got her to working so fast is that China 
baby of mine whom I have named ‘The Little 
Flower.’ ” 

“Aw! what are you blowing about?” said Joe. 
“You’d think that that China baby of yours was 
the only baby in the world.” 

“See here, Joe Dowling; I’d have you know 
that I don’t care to hear you say anything un¬ 
kind about that China baby of mine.” 

“I’ll bet it has sore eyes,” said Joe. 

“It hasn’t,” retorted Julia, growing quite an¬ 
gry* 

“Then it will go blind like as not,” he insisted. 

“My ‘Little Flower’ go blind!” 

The two in a few seconds fell to quarreling 
about a baby who at the moment was probably 
not yet born. Neither reckoned that it takes 
several weeks for five dollars to reach the Chi¬ 
nese Missions. 

“Anyhow,” said Joe finally, “my opinion is 
that the Little Flower is on the job so fast be¬ 
cause we began the novena without delay.” 


112 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“Maybe it was, Joe,” conceded Julia. 

“And,” said the magnanimous youth, “I’ve 
been thinking about that China baby of yours, 
and I’m sure it’s very beautiful and that it will 
live and pray for you.” 

Julia’s face cleared. 

“And I think you’re right, Joe. I think your 
early start on that novena was just the thing. 
Anyhow, I ought not to be blowing about that 
China baby of mine. It’s—it’s spiritual pride 
or something nasty like that.” 

So Joe started for the Fenwick Club, leaving 
Julia contrite and happy. When he returned 
at noontime, he entered the apartment with a 
whoop. 

“Didn’t I tell you, Julia? You heard me say 
so, Marie, didn’t you?” 

“What did you say?” asked Marie. 

“What did you tell me?” cried Julia. 

“Why, that the Little Flower was on the job, 
and would keep on. Lord Bountiful is back!” 

There was a burst of delighted ohs and ahs. 

“Yes. I saw him at the Fenwick Club this 
morning. And he asked about every one in the 
family by name.” 

“Whom did he ask for first?” asked Marie 
eagerly. It was the Marie of three days ago 
who spoke. 

“Marie,” began Julia, with a drawl that in¬ 
dicated the judicial attitude, “asked that ques¬ 
tion because—” 

“I take it back, Julia,” said Marie with her 
sweetest smile. 

“Say,” murmured Joe, “I’m dreadfully hun¬ 
gry. Louie Davico and I have been practising 


A FEW ROSES 


113 


all morning, and Lord Bountiful has been help¬ 
ing us. If there’s anything to eat, lead me to 
it.” 

“Say, Joe,” said Eileen. “Just think! we’ve 
got prunes!” 

“And butter for our bread!” added Frank. 

“Bully!” ejaculated the hungry boy. 

Of course, it was not a banquet; but com¬ 
pared to the meals with which they had lately 
been served, it was unusually good. Father 
Carney’s gold piece was being used to good 
purpose. 

On that Saturday afternoon, Peggy, who had 
been going about the city seeking vainly for a 
position, returned despondent. The family 
debts, it is true, were paid; but the larder was 
empty, and there was barely enough money on 
hand to provide the family meals for another 
day. If the worst came to the worst, she could 
borrow. But Peggy did not like to borrow 
money which she did not see her way to repay. 
Her friends and neighbors were not rich; they 
could not afford to lend money the repayment 
of which might be far off. And then there was 
question of the rent, amounting to twenty-five 
dollars, due on August 1st with three days of 
grace. The tears sprang to the unhappy girl’s 
eyes at the thought that she might possibly be 
forced to appeal to one or another of the local 
charities. 

Worst of all, Peggy felt that it would not be 
fair to her mother to pretend that she was still 
employed. She had deferred the sad news hop¬ 
ing to find a position. But now it was Satur¬ 
day, business was suspended at noon, and there 


114 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


were no prospects for Monday. To crown these 
misfortunes, Mrs. Dowling, who had been im¬ 
proving steadily for two days, was, on Satur¬ 
day evening, giving indications of a relapse. 
Peggy forced the tears back, and wearing a 
smile that must have won her high favor in the 
eyes of the angels, took in hand the individual 
bathing and sprucing up of her destitute 
brothers and sisters. 

Before the supper hour, the children, laugh¬ 
ing and gay, were so adorned that one entering 
the room would have felt assured that he was in 
a home of comfort and plenty. Before supper, 
I say; for had he witnessed that frugal repast, 
he might have revised his opinions. Twenty 
minutes after the beginning of the meal the 
plates were, apparently, clean; and there was 
so little left that only a keen eye could detect 
here and there a tiny crumb. 

“On my birthday,” said Joe, looking wistfully 
at his plate, “I’m going to ask Mother to let me 
have a feed for all of you and Louie Davico.” 

The children became intensely interested. 

“What are you going to have, Joe?” Julia 
asked. 

“Pie,” said Joe, solemnly, “mince pie.” 

“Great,” cried Frank, his mouth watering. 

“And ice-cream, and cream puffs, and oranges, 
and fruit cake.” 

“Gee!” exclaimed Julia. “Won’t it be gor¬ 
geous.” 

“And raisins and—and—a lobster for Marie.” 

The girl flushed prettily. 

“I want just the same as the others, Joe.” 


A FEW ROSES 115 

“Who’s going to pay, Joe?” This question 
came from the practical Julia. 

“Oh, that’s a—that’s a—” 

“A detail,” suggested Marie. 

“Yes; that’s just a detail. My birthday is 
three months off. We’ll arrange that in plenty 
of time.” 

“And, Joe,” said Marie, “what sort of meat 
are you going to have?” 

“Chicken,” said Joe, firmly. 

“No,” said Julia. “Let’s have beefsteak.” 

“Chicken,” Joe insisted. 

A controversy arose at once. Joe and Marie 
would have chicken; the rest of the family, mind¬ 
ful of yesterday’s blissful dinner, were strong 
for steak. Marie arose and, becoming lyrical, 
sang the praises of fried chicken to such effect 
that Peggy interrupted her. 

“Marie, for goodness’ sake stop. If you say 
another word about the wonders of fried 
chicken I’ll get up and go out and rob a res¬ 
taurant at once.” 

The picture of Peggy in the role of a high¬ 
wayman provoked silvery laughter, interrupted 
by a knock at the door. No one was startled. 
Every one, as Joe arose and caught the knob, 
looked eager and expectant. 

“Whoop,” piped Joe. “It’s Lord Bountiful 
himself!” 

And forgetting their hunger and all their 
troubles the children rushed upon the big smil¬ 
ing fellow. Poor Marie, now radiantly beautiful 
at sight of the beloved friend, had a moment be¬ 
fore been thinking with unconscious envy of the 
many beautiful women—such as she had seen in 


116 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


the pictures—who were at that hour regaling 
themselves with the choicest offerings of the most 
expert chefs. It flashed through her mind, as 
she threw herself into the wonderful man’s arms, 
that not one of these in all their splendor and 
pomp could possibly feel as happy as herself and 
the half-starved little ones holding his hands 
and plucking at his coat. Upon my word, love 
is a wonderful thing. 

“Stand back,” presently ordered Lord Boun¬ 
tiful, with a severity of tone that his twinkling 
eyes redeemed. “Get into line. I want to ask 
some important questions.” 

“Go on; we’re ready,” said smiling Joe, in his 
overflowing happiness punching Julia in the 
ribs. 

“Frank,” said the man, “do you like ice¬ 
cream?” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Frank, with supreme 
seriousness. 

“So do I,” said Eileen. 

“And Eileen, do you like cake?” 

“I like anything good to eat.” 

“Of course,” continued Lord Bountiful, “you 
wouldn’t care to take anything right now; you’ve 
just had your supper, I perceive.” 

A settled gloom fell upon the younger Dow¬ 
lings. 

“I think we could manage, sir,” said Joe 
soberly. 

Then Lord Bountiful skipped out of the room, 
and at once came back, with ice-cream and cake 
and—could they believe their eyes?—raisin 
bread. When the lady upstairs, fire in her eye, 
her arms akimbo, came striding down to inquire 


A FEW ROSES 


117 


whether the Dowlings were trying to give an 
exact imitation of the Zoo animals at meal-time, 
and looking in, perceived the situation, she 
stopped at once, and muttering, “God bless that 
man whoever he is,” returned to her quarters 
and contented herself with taking it out on her 
boy of eight with a slipper. 

“I hope you’ll get away with the ice-cream,” 
observed the Lord Bountiful, his eyes twinkling. 
“It’s so hard to do justice to it when you’ve taken 
a meal.” 

All protested earnestly that they thought they 
could. 

“Did you see the Little Flower come in with 
Lord Bountiful?” Marie playfully asked Peggy. 

“No, my dear; but I believe she did come in, 
and that she’s here now.” 

“You can bet your sweet life,” put in Joe, 
“that she’s on the job and working overtime.” 

“Mrs. Dowling,” said Lord Bountiful, taking 
advantage of the moment to escape from them, 
“I’m glad to see you; but in a way I’m disap¬ 
pointed. I thought that by this time you would 
be up.” 

“So did I, Paul,” said the sick woman, catch¬ 
ing his hand and showing in her way a welcome 
fully as cordial as that of the children; “but 
today I’ve begun to fall back. I’m sure it’s noth¬ 
ing serious. I haven’t a pain or an ache.” 

Lord Bountiful looked at her keenly. Her 
face had taken on the delicate tints of a girl just 
blooming into womanhood. But she looked so 
thin, so frail, so pathetic. She was wasting 
away. 


118 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“Mrs. Dowling,” he went on. “I have come 
to ask yon for a great favor.” 

“If it’s anything in my power, Paul, I shall 
be only too glad.” 

“It may put your family arrangements out 
of joint.” 

“Perhaps we can contrive.” 

“It is this, Mrs. Dowling. I want to rent your 
front room.” 

“Pm afraid,” she began, shaking her head— 

“By day only.” 

“Oh!” 

“From nine in the morning till, say, about 
nine at night.” 

“Perhaps we can arrange that.” 

“I feel sure you can. At nine a man will come 
here and will ask the privilege of sitting at that 
front window on the north. He’ll not bother 
any one. He may come in and come out. He’ll 
be in no one’s way. Of course, he may inter¬ 
fere to some extent with the family privacy—” 

“Say no more, Paul. If it’s for a friend of 
yours, he is welcome. And as for rent, why I 
couldn’t think of charging—” 

“Not so fast, Mrs. Dowling. You needn’t 
think at all. About five, he will leave, and I 
shall take his place.” 

“Oh, how delightful!” 

“Isn’t it?” beamed the big man. “You know, 
I shan’t spend all my time at the window. I 
should say not. We’re going to have a party 
every night, and no end of fun. We may need 
the room for three weeks or more.” 

“How happy my little ones will be. I feel, 
Paul, as if you will take their father’s place; 


A FEW ROSES 119 

and just at a time when I can do nothing for 
them. But as to charging one cent—” 

“Hold on! hold on! I’ll not come if you re¬ 
fuse a rental.” 

Mrs. Dowling looked appalled at that pros¬ 
pect. 

“So, then, Mrs. Dowling, that’s settled. Now 
we must tell Peggy, and Peggy may tell the 
others. Hey, Peggy, come in for a moment. 
Ah! here you are. I have just concluded ar¬ 
rangements for the part use of the front room 
for three weeks or so. Your mother has heard 
and has agreed. There’ll be a man here tomor¬ 
row at nine, who simply sits at the window— 
and I relieve him from five to nine.” 

“And you’ll be able to play with the children?” 

“Even if I have to neglect my duty!” 

“Why, it will not interfere with us in the 
least, Lord Bountiful. Indeed, it will help. 
We’ll not be obliged to get the children off the 
streets in the evening. They’ll not bother about 
trying to get out at night. And we’ll have music 
every night—that is—” The girl suddenly 
paused. She just happened to recall that, un¬ 
less God came to their help, the piano would be 
removed on the coming Saturday. She was al¬ 
ready two weeks in arrears on her payments, 
and had been warned that unless money were 
forthcoming, the instrument which she so loved 
would be taken away. 

“Here’s the first week’s rental,” said Lord 
Bountiful, handing her four crisp five-dollar 
bills. 

“Week!” cried Peggy. “You mean month.” 


120 LORD BOUNTIFUL 

“Indeed, I don’t. I’m paying you the regular 
thing.” 

“But I—I—can’t take it, Lord Bountiful.” 

“You must, or the whole thing’s off. And let 
me tell you, Peggy, that will he mighty hard on 
me. I’m counting on being at home—you know 
what I mean—every evening of the next few 
weeks. It will make up for my loneliness. You 
do not know how I miss my wife and little chil¬ 
dren—yes, I’m married—and you here will make 
me forget their loss.” 

“Of course, then,” said Peggy, dimpling with 
joy, “I can’t refuse it since you put it that way. 
And how glad I am that I can’t. Mother, I was 
just worrying how I could break you the bad 
news. But now it is easy. On Friday, I was 
laid off and I hadn’t the heart to tell you. I 
knew it would worry you so. But now we’re on 
Easy Street for a time—long enough for me to 
find something else and for you to get well.” 

When the youngsters were summoned and 
when it was explained to them that they were 
to have Lord Bountiful as their guest every eve¬ 
ning, it required strenuous efforts on the part of 
Peggy and Marie to prevent them from making 
an outbreak of noisy rapture which would have 
brought in a good section of the neighborhood. 

“Joe,” said Julia, “I think it was the Little 
Flower who brought Lord Bountiful up here 
the day you were chased by the cop.” 

“Not at all,” returned Joe; “it was that novena 
of mine, the one I started.” 

“Huh!” said Julia. “You think you’ve got 
all the piety of the family.” 

Just then, Lord Bountiful, going out into the 


A FEW ROSES 


121 


stairway landing, returned with more packages. 
As he held the articles up, one by one—a me¬ 
chanical top for Frank, a flirting doll for Eileen, 
a catcher’s mask for Joe, also gloves—to say 
nothing of a pitcher’s glove for Louis, a box 
of writing paper for Julia, a pair of roller skates 
for Marie, and a fountain pen for Peggy—the 
applause and jubilation got beyond control, 
since Marie and Peggy were almost as bad as 
their juniors. 

“I say!” cried a very angry old man, who, get¬ 
ting no answer to his kicking, threw open the 
door, “what’s the meaning of this riot? I can’t 
hear myself think, I—” 

“Here. Try this,” interrupted Lord Bounti¬ 
ful, skilfully fitting a cigar into the old gentle¬ 
man’s mouth. “It’s a Perfecto. Want a 
light?” 

As the old fellow’s eyes swept the room, and 
he saw the children suppressing their hilarity 
and fondling their respective gifts, he allowed 
his features to relax, and when Lord Bountiful 
struck a match and held it to the cigar, he 
puffed on it twice, thrice, and smiled like an 
ancient seraph. 

“It is all over,” explained the genial young 
man, “including the shouting!” 

The old man puffed again. 

“I beg your pardon,” he said, “but it’s glad I 
am to see you all so happy.” 

“Take another cigar,” said Lord Bountiful. 

“It’s very unkind,” continued the mortified 
intruder, “to break up a decent little come-all-ye 
like this. Sure, keep on. Make as much noise 
as you like, and I’ll be glad to stand outside and 


122 LORD BOUNTIFUL 

shoo away any foolish person who wants to 
object.” 

Carefully putting away the second cigar, he 
bowed himself out. 

“I say, Julia; you were right.” 

“How do you mean, Joe?” 

“Urn sure now that the Little Flower sent 
Lord Bountiful here ahead of that cop. But, 
oh! sufferin’ cats, isn’t that novena working!” 


CHAPTER XI 


JOE AND LOUIS BECOME DETECTIVES 

S unday passed without anything worthy of 
remark. Nothing happened. Mrs. Dowl¬ 
ing seemed to be getting weaker. Even the 
younger children noticed the change. 

“Say, Lord Bountiful,” said Joe at their re¬ 
union that evening, “the Little Flower has done 
a lot more than we expected; but she hasn’t come 
round to my mother yet.” 

“You have no faith, Joe,” said Julia. 

“I have so, too. I didn’t mean to say any¬ 
thing against little Therese.” 

“I’ve an idea,” said Lord Bountiful, “that 
she’ll come around to your mother in good time.” 

And this statement, as the present writer 
firmly believes, was verified by a series of events, 
some of them rather startling, which are to be 
set down in this and the following chapter. 

On Monday afternoon, Joe Dowling and Louis 
Davico were strolling down Reading Road from 
the ball grounds, where their team, the Corpies, 
had in five innings so signally outplayed a rival 
nine, the Pentons, that the latter gave up in 
disgust. Not one of their players could solve 
the pitching of the great Louis Davico. The 
battery, Joe and Louis, were elated. Moreover, 
they had an hour to spare before going home. 

123 


124 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“Suppose,” suggested Joe, “we walk as far 
as Sixth and Vine.” 

“That’s just the direction I’d like to take,” 
said Louis. 

Each lad had the same thought in mind. Each 
wanted to pass by the Hotel Savoy, where per¬ 
chance he might get a sight of Lord Bountiful, 
who was staying there. Who knows but he 
might see them and give them a smile? Why, he 
might ask them in, and then they could tell him 
about their recent performance on the diamond. 

“He’s an awful nice fellow,” observed Louis. 

“He sure is,” responded Joe. There was no 
need to ask Louis to whom he referred. “And 
do you know, Louie, I think he is very brave.” 

“Is he?” 

“Yes; and I can’t tell why I think so. He is 
so nice and gentle with children that you’d think 
lie couldn’t say a rough word or look savage. 
But I’ll bet you he wouldn’t be afraid to tackle 
his weight in wildcats. It’s a hunch I’ve got, 
that’s what it is.” 

They walked on in silence for some time, turn¬ 
ing down Main Street to Sixth, and then west¬ 
ward toward the hotel. 

“Say, Joe, look who’s here—on the other side 
of the street.” 

Joe turned his gaze in the direction indicated. 

“Why it’s Marie and—and—that goose Myrtle 
Merrick.” 

“Do you know what Pat McKane said of 
Myrtle the other day, Joe?” 

“No; what?” 

“He said that when God made Myrtle, He 
spent so much time giving the finishing touches 


THE DETECTIVES 


125 


to her features that He let it go at that. So He 
put nothing inside her head; just left it empty.” 

Joe laughed heartily. 

“Maybe she has brains,” he said, “but if she 
has, she has managed to keep it a dead secret.” 

“At Father Carney’s doll sale,” the other went 
on, “there was a whale of a doll there with china 
blue eyes and wheat-stack hair that hung way 
down behind, and cherry cheeks and a big dim¬ 
ple. She was a talking doll, too. And she looked 
just like Myrtle. But the doll had more sense 
than Myrtle—a lot more.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“Oh, the doll doesn’t talk near so much.” 

“I can’t make out,” said Joe darkly, “why 
Marie can see anything in Myrtle.” 

“Neither can I,” assented Louis. “After all, 
Marie has brains. She can write beautiful. My 
sister says that Marie is the best writer of Eng¬ 
lish in the First Commercial class; and that 
since she cut out the dancing stunts, she is good 
in everything. But that Myrtle doll is a born 
goose. She hasn’t enough sense to come in out 
of the rain when it’s raining.” 

“If she did get an idea in her head,” said Joe, 
“she’d have a siege of brain fever.” 

“It wouldn’t hurt her a bit, Joe; the fever 
couldn’t harm her; it wouldn’t have enough to 
work upon.” 

“If my mother weren’t so sick, Louie, I’d tell 
on Marie. I know Mother doesn’t want Marie 
to go with that yellow-headed, goo-goo-eyed sap- 
head.” 

The gentle critics of Myrtle Merrick were now 


126 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


in front of the Savoy. They looked in. Lord 
Bountiful was not in the lobby. 

“It’s too bad,” said Joe. “Maybe he’s gone 
out.” 

“Who are you looking for, boys?” asked a 
friendly-faced gentleman in spotless attire. Be¬ 
low his close-cut white moustache projected a 
large, fat cigar standing out at a reckless angle 
from the corner of his mouth. 

“Lord Bountiful, sir,” answered Joe. “That 
is—I mean Paul Francis.” 

The gentleman gave a laugh that was good to 
hear. 

“That’s a good one,” he said. “Lord Bounti¬ 
ful! It fits him like a glove.” 

“Joe,” explained Louis, pointing with pride to 
his pal, “made that name up out of his own 
head.” 

“Joe!” exclaimed the man. “Are you Joe 
Dowling?” 

“Yes, sir,” said the astonished boy. 

“Shake hands, Joe; I’ve heard of you. And 
that’s Louis Davico.” 

“Say, what are you? Did you hear of my 
pitching?” asked the intensely flattered Italian. 

“I’ve heard a lot about both of you,” came the 
evasive answer. “Lord Bountiful, as you call 
him, has spoken about you. You are lucky, boys, 
to have so good a friend.” 

“Oh, Louie,” said Joe, the light of discovery 
on his face, “this is the man that Marie talks 
about so much. It’s Colonel Robert Bridwell.” 

“How is Marie?” asked the Colonel. 

“She’s been pretty sensible lately,” answered 
the brother. 


THE DETECTIVES 127 

“She’s sensible all the time,” growled Colonel 
Bridwell. 

“You don’t know her as well as I do, sir. 
Most of the time she is rather stuck on herself.” 

“Wait, boys.” The Colonel meditated for a 
moment. “Well, I might as well tell you. Just 
a minute ago, Paul Francis got a phone call 
from a house on Browning Street, below Pearl. 
He was asked to come at once on important busi¬ 
ness—No. 222 was the number; but no name 
was given. I advised him not to go. While I am 
not free to tell you all I know about Paul Fran¬ 
cis, I don’t think it any breach of confidence to 
inform you that there’s a bunch of men in this 
country who mortally hate him. I was just be¬ 
ginning to worry when you two boys came along. 
He’s gone, and he’s gone alone.” 

“Come on, Louie, let’s go and see what’s going 
on.” 

“I’m with you, Joe,” said Louis, his eyes 
gleaming at the prospect of adventure. 

“Hold on, boys,” said the Colonel, removing 
his cigar. “Let me tell you this. Paul Francis 
went from here to Walnut. He’s going down 
Walnut as far as Fifth, because he intended to 
stop in at the United Cigar Store, where he ex¬ 
pects to meet a friend for a moment. He’s prob¬ 
ably there yet. Now scoot! And keep your 
eyes open.” 

At the word and without the formality of 
leave-taking, the boys hurried away. They had 
reached the Strand moving picture theater on 
Walnut, when Joe suddenly caught Louis by 
the shoulder. 


128 LORD BOUNTIFUL 

“Look!” said Joe, pointing toward Fifth 
Street. 

“I don’t see anything.” 

“Look at those two men standing just a few 
feet beyond Keith's theater.” 

“Well, what about them?” 

“Here; go slowly: I want to think. There’s 
this about them. You see that six-foot one with 
the big black moustache?” 

“Yes. He has a red scar over his right eye, 
and another scar across his right cheek.” 

“That’s the fellow. You know him?” 

“I do not.” 

“Louie,” said Joe earnestly, bringing his com¬ 
panion to a halt by catching the lapel of his coat, 
“that guy lives on Baum Street.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Know? Why, he lives right across from our 
house on the third floor. And, though Lord 
Bountiful hasn’t said a word to me, I think 
there must be something between them. That 
guy has two other fellows with him. Sometimes 
they show up at the window. Now, I noticed 
on the very day you and I made up, that Lord 
Bountiful every now and then was cocking his 
eye at that window. And here’s a secret, Louie. 
You’ll keep it under your hat, won’t you?” 

“Of course. What is it?” 

“Lord Bountiful is watching those three guys 
from our window every night. It’s a mystery.” 

“A dark mystery,” said the delighted Italian. 

“Another thing, Louie: those two fellows are 
keeping their eye on that cigar store. Do you 
know what that means?” 

Louis meditated for a moment. 


THE DETECTIVES 


129 


“By jimini,” he cried, rolling his dark eyes 
in the delight of discovery, “it means that Lord 
Bountiful is in there yet.” 

“That’s what I think, Louie.” 

As though to confirm his opinion, Lord Boun¬ 
tiful at that moment stepped out of the tobacco 
store alone, and proceeded to cross Fifth Street. 
The two men at once proceeded in the same di¬ 
rection. 

“It’s a cinch; they’re trailing him,” whispered 
Louis. “Let’s go on after them. Who’s the other 
guy, the little fellow with the long hair and the 
dark glasses?” 

“Never saw him before; but I’m dead onto 
the dark one. Walk slowly, Louie; I want to 
think; and I’ve got to think quick.” 

For several seconds the two moved on in 
silence. 

“The worst of it is,” said Joe as, following 
the two men, they crossed Fifth, and then to 
the other side of Walnut, “I’m almost certain 
that the dark guy knows me by sight. He has 
seen me standing at our window. Now, Louie, 
I’ll tell you what. You go ahead and catch up 
with Lord Bountiful. It’s pretty certain that 
fellow doesn’t know you. And when you do get 
up with Lord Bountiful, don’t let him stop or 
turn around and look back. That might queer 
the whole thing.” 

“Bully!” said Louis. “I understand. Any¬ 
thing else?” 

“Yes; let Lord Bountiful know that I’m be¬ 
hind trailing the two that are trailing him. 
Now if you want me, or he wants me, all you 


130 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


need do is to make a sign; and IT1 be up with 
you in a hurry.” 

“Say, Joe, you have a head: you think of 
everything. Now, Pm off.” 

The crowd on the east side of Walnut Street 
was thick. Taking advantage of this, the young 
Italian threaded his way in and out like a highly 
educated eel. He easily passed the two men 
without attracting their notice. Louis breathed 
freely as, without mishap of any sort, he came 
within a few feet of Lord Bountiful. He felt, 
and the feeling filled him with elation, that this 
was one of the most important hours in his 
whole life. 

Before addressing himself to Lord Bountiful, 
Louis breathed a short and earnest prayer. 

“Ah, Fve got it,” he murmured. He was now 
directly behind his hero, so near that should 
he move his arm slightly forward, he would 
touch the big man. 

“Don’t turn, Lord Bountiful,” he said in a 
low clear tone. 

“Certainly not. That you, Louis? I’m being 
followed?” Lord Bountiful, as he spoke, walked 
on, giving no sign of trouble or anxiety. 

“Yes,” whispered the boy, still walking behind 
him. “One’s a fellow of Baum Street. Scar 
over eye and on face.” 

“The other?” 

“A measly shrimp of a guy with blackish 
spectacles and long light hair. And Joe Dowl¬ 
ing is trailing them.” 

“You get Joe with you, and beat them to the 
corner of Fourth and Broadway. The two of 
you try to think up something to get their at- 


THE DETECTIVES 131 

tention off me at that corner for a minute or 
two.” 

“I got you,” said Louis, slackening his speed 
and moving toward the inner side of the side^ 
walk. Glancing with a casual effect hack, he 
saw the two men following at a respectful dis¬ 
tance, and just behind them, Joe. 

Louis, making sure that Joe’s eyes were upon 
him, caught the peak of his cap by the right 
hand, and gave it a twist to the left. It was 
his signal indicating that he intended to serve a 
slow ball. At once, Joe gliding unobtrusively 
past the two men, and hiding himself by hug¬ 
ging the sidewalk nearest the abutting houses, 
came on at a pace which brought him beside 
Louis at the corner of Fourth and Main. 

“Say, Joe, you’ve got to think hard and fast. 
Look at the nerve of Lord Bountiful*—going 
ahead as though I told him nothing! Say, he 
wants us to block those fellows somehow or an¬ 
other for a couple of minutes at the corner of 
Fourth and Broadway, not quite two squares 
from here.” 

“What’s his idea?” 

“I don’t know; but I guess he wants them to 
lose sight of him for a minute or so. I know 
he’s got something up his sleeve. But how are 
we going to do it?” 

“L—I—believe I’ve got the idea,” returned 
Joe slowly. “Say, isn’t this great?” 

“Isn’t it? I’m just wild with excitement. 
Say, what do you think of this? Suppose we 
get behind those fellows, and at Fourth and 
Sycamore we suddenly jump on their backs. 
Of course, that will stop them dead in their 


132 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


tracks. Then we’ll slip off and skidoo. What 
do you think of that?” 

Joe shook his head. 

“Perhaps, if we had luck, we might spill ’em 
both,” urged Louis. “That would be great.” 

“We might spill the—the-” 

“The shrimp, Joe. Sure, either of us could 
do it, I believe.” 

“But there’s not a chance in the world with 
the big guy. He’d shake either of us off, and 
wouldn’t lose sight of Lord Bountiful for ten 
seconds. Now, I don’t want to blow, but I think 
my plan is better; but it’s harder. Now get 
your ear near mine, and listen, and think hard.” 

There was, for at least two minutes, an excit¬ 
ing conversation, Joe supplying the words for 
the most part, and Louis furnishing the gestures. 

“And now,” asked Louis, as they neared the 
corner of Fourth and Broadway, “on which side 
are we to stage this little affair?” 

“If Lord Bountiful crosses the street to the 
east side of it, why we just naturally do it there; 
but if he turns down Broadway on the near side, 
that’s our side, too.” 

Lord Bountiful crossed the street. 

“That settles it,” said Joe. “We cross, too.” 

As the boys reached the farther corner, they 
stood and glared at each other. They muttered, 
they snarled. Both were to all seeming highly 
angry. In the meantime, the two men were 
crossing the street. 

“You’re another,” yelled Joe. 

“Take it back or I’ll bust you one in the jaw,” 
returned Louis, with a face that the Furies 
might well envy. 



THE DETECTIVES 


133 


“You’re another—another—another—” 

It would be difficult to an onlooker, and there 
were already several, to say which one sprang 
at the other first. In a moment, they were rock¬ 
ing and swinging in a clinch. Suddenly Joe 
broke loose, and with a violent shove sent Louis 
flying into the long-haired man in the spectacles, 
who naturally went backward and nearly fell. 
Joe was after him with a tiger-like spring, so 
deftly timed that instead of leaping upon Louis, 
he landed head first on the dark man’s stomach. 
On the whole, the performance was very dis¬ 
concerting to the mysterious pair. Apparently 
too excited to apologize, Joe, falling to the 
ground, made through the legs of the dark one 
for Louis, who, giving signs of having had 
enough, ducked behind the confused fair one. 
At this juncture, strong men caught Louis and 
Joe, and, as the two victims of this trick, both 
of them looking strangely frightened, hastened 
away down Broadway, exhorted the belligerents 
to make up. 

“It’s nothing: we were only fooling,” ex¬ 
plained Joe, brushing himself with his hands 
and gazing eagerly down the street. 

“It was a joke,” said Louis, turning his eyes 
in the same direction. 

Lord Bountiful had disappeared. The trail¬ 
ers were gazing wildly in the direction he had 
gone. One of them, the long-haired man, whis¬ 
pered to the other, and at once they quickened 
their steps. 

A moment later, the boys uttered an exclama¬ 
tion of astonishment in one breath. 


134 LORD BOUNTIFUL 

“Come on,” said Joe. “Something is going to 
happen.” 

For, as the two mystified men passed the 
third house from the corner, there stepped out 
from a doorway Lord Bountiful. Positions had 
been reversed. The trailed one was now the 
trailer. Between Fourth and Third Streets, on 
Broadway, is a small street called Arch; and 
on the nearer side of Arch is the second dis¬ 
trict police station. As the two were passing 
this, the long-haired man, seeing the building, 
stopped to gaze in through the large glass win¬ 
dows, thereby halting his companion. At the 
moment, Lord Bountiful, scarcely fifteen feet 
behind them, suddenly broke into a run, like a 
full-back with no time to lose. He was on the 
two men as they were just about to turn and 
resume their way. Running his left arm around 
the larger man’s neck, and with the other pick¬ 
ing up bodily the smaller, losing little or noth¬ 
ing of his original stride, he had the two inside 
the station house so expeditiously that no one 
but the two boys and a woman across the way 
leaning out of her window took the least notice. 

“Sufferin’ cats!” cried Joe. 

“Blistering bananas!” bawled the other. 
“Wasn’t that slick?” 

“Shake!” said Joe. “We put it over fine. 
Louie, you’re a born actor.” 

“You’re another. But what shall we do now?” 

“Suppose,” said Joe, “that we stroll down 
toward the station house. I wonder what’s 
happened!” 

“Sure; let’s go. Say, we’ll have something 
to tell the fellows. I feel like a deteckative.” 


THE DETECTIVES 135 

“We are detectives,” said Joe proudly. “Hal¬ 
loa, here he comes.” 

Lord Bountiful, his hands in his trousers 
pockets, sauntered forth from the station, smil¬ 
ing largely, perfectly serene. He threw a quick 
eye toward Fourth Street, and, seeing the boys, 
redoubled his smiles and stretched his arms 
toward them in welcome. The young detectives, 
flushed and proud and happy, dashed forward 
and literally threw themselves upon him. 

“Boys,” he exclaimed. “You are simply won¬ 
derful. The way you staged that affair means 
that you are quick-witted, skilful and brave. 
No coward could have done that.” 

Louis and Joe gazed upon him in ecstasy. 

“And you’ve done me a wonderful service. 
I am almost certain that you saved my life.” 

“What!” gasped the two. 

“And you’ve done more good than I have a 
right to tell you. That long-haired man-” 

“The shrimp?” asked the lively Italian. 

“Exactly; he’s one of the most dangerous men 
in the United States.” 

“And I shot you into him, Louie.” 

“There’s a reward out for him,” continued 
Lord Bountiful. 

“What is he?” asked Joe. 

“He’s a promoter of I. W. W. stuff; and he’s 
wanted badly by a certain government across the 
seas. One more word, boys. Will you do me a 
great favor?” 

“Sure,” they answered in a breath. 

“Keep this whole thing quiet. It’s important. 
Notice how I got them into the station, so quietly 



136 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


that no one noticed? There’ll be nothing about 
it in the papers.” 

“It’s hard, sir, to keep quiet,” said Louis; 
“but you can bet on us.” 

“Say, Lord Bountiful,” pursued Joe in ac¬ 
cents of entreaty, “if you’re going to keep that 
appointment on Pearl Street, won’t you please 
let us go with you?” 

“I’m not going,” laughed Lord Bountiful. 
“But while I was in the station, I arranged to 
send a few substitutes—ten plain-clothes men. 
They are there now, I believe.” 

Just then the clanging of the patrol wagon 
rang out. 

“That proves it. And now the men who 
wanted to meet me are about to get a free ride, 
and will become guests of the city.” 


CHAPTER XII 


JOE IS REWARDED 

O N that particular Monday evening, Lord 
Bountiful did not put in an appearance at 
the Dowling home. As five, six and seven 
o’clock passed, there came an unwonted feeling 
of depression on the expectant children. Mrs. 
Dowling had grown sensibly weaker. Even little 
Frank and Eileen became quarrelsome. To re¬ 
lieve the tension, gentle Peggy, who had come 
home footsore after a day’s fruitless quest, 
seated herself at the piano. Being, though she 
knew it not, an artist, she informed her music 
with the sadness that was then upon her spirit. 
It was all quite beautiful, but it did little to 
banish the surrounding gloom. No doubt, 
Peggy herself was feeling the better for her per¬ 
formance. She was passing on to the family 
her own depression, and in relieving herself, 
distressing her audience. When, however, she 
struck the opening strains of Chopin’s funeral 
march, the worm turned. 

“Hold on, Peggy,” entreated Joe, who, mind¬ 
ful of his splendid adventure, was making a 
partly successful fight against the prevailing 
melancholy, “if you want to play that thing, 
bring on the corpse first.” 

Peggy turned somewhat startled eyes upon 
the boy. 


137 


138 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“Joe is right,” commented Julia. “That’s 
Peggy’s way always. If she feels gay, she plays 
gay music. If she feels sad, she serves out sob 
stuff. You ought to try the other way round, 
Peggy. We’re all feeling bad tonight.” 

“Yes; give us a jig,” said Joe. 

Peggy apologized. She had been indulging, 
she explained, in self-expression; and self-ex¬ 
pression sometimes turned out to be selfish ex¬ 
pression. Whereupon, addressing herself once 
more to the piano, she presently set all hearts 
and a few tiny feet dancing to the merriest Irish 
music in her repertoire. On the whole, the fam¬ 
ily returned to their normal cheerful state. 
Marie was something of an exception. She con¬ 
fided to Julia while the music was at its mer¬ 
riest that she was thinking seriously of taking 
the veil. 

“This world,” she explained, “is all a fleeting 
show.” 

Julia glanced at her shrewdly. 

“I’ll bet,” she said, “that some boy or other 
snubbed you today: you had no thought of being 
a nun this morning.” 

Marie sniffed. “Julia, you are dense. When 
I speak of sacred things, you must go and bring 
in trifling remarks that have nothing to do with 
the case.” 

“Boys,” said Julia, “where you are concerned 
have everything to do with nearly all your 
cases.” 

“I wish I was dead,” said Marie savagely. 

“It might be a blessing for you to die young,” 
returned the tranquil Julia. Whereupon, Marie, 
answering the comment with elevated brows and 


JOE IS REWARDED 


139 


freezing stare, turned her back upon the young 
philosopher. 

Mne o’clock came; beads and litanies were 
recited with fervor; it was bedtime. 

“This,” observed Joe, as they arose from their 
knees, “is the fifth day of the novena.” 

“And there’s nothing doing,” pursued Marie. 
“The Little Flower must be busy somewhere else. 
I’ve had a hateful day.” 

“Aw!” said Joe. “Served you right, too. 
When Louie and I were dressing after that ball 
game, you went up to Francis McCann, who 
had made two runs, and you almost threw your¬ 
self at his head.” 

“Joe Dowling, I did nothing of the sort. 
I-” 

“Well, you may think you didn’t, but every¬ 
body else who saw it said you did. And every¬ 
body says—all the fellows—that when Francis 
told you to go and chase yourself around the 
block, he served you right.” 

“There were others,” protested the indignant 
Marie. 

“Yes; I know. There was that Myrtle Mer¬ 
rick, whose brains grew out with her hair. She 
threw herself at our first baseman for stealing 
two bases. Now everybody on our team knows 
that you two were gassing away with a bunch 
of cigarette fiends the whole time we were 
playing-” 

“I was watching,” protested Marie. 

“Not so as anyone could notice it. He served 
Myrtle right, too.” 

“What did he do?” asked Julia. 




140 LORD BOUNTIFUL 

“He told her to make a noise like a hoop and 
roll away.” 

“Things like that—I mean remarks like that 
addressed to a lovely girl,” said Julia with an 
emphasized drawl, “are enough to send her to a 
nunnery—” 

“Julia Dowling,” interrupted Marie, hotly, 
“you should never try to be funny.” 

“Or,” pursued Julia, “to make her wish she 
was dead.” 

Then Marie, rising, cleared her throat, threw 
out a threatening finger at the undaunted Julia 
and opened her mouth to voice the thoughts 
that were burning within her, when there came 
a single sharp knock at the door. 

“Lord Bountiful,” came the chorus. 

But it was not. Joe, opening the door with 
alacrity, was facing a messenger boy, who, giv¬ 
ing him two letters, hastened down the steps. 

“What is it, Joe,” came the chorus. 

“Here’s a letter for Mother, and, by George, 
here’s one for me. May I read mine, Mother?” 

Joe handed his mother her letter. 

“Certainly, Joe. Please read mine privately, 
Peggy,” said Mrs. Dowling; “and if you judge 
proper, let all hear it.” 

Peggy, running a practised eye down the type¬ 
written page, broke into a smile. 

“Oh! this is such a nice letter. It’s from 
Lord Bountiful.” 

“Read it, read it,” shouted Frank and Eileen, 
who, a moment ago hardly able to keep their 
eyes open, were now fully awake. 

“May I, Mother? It’s all right.” 

The sick woman nodded. 


JOE IS REWARDED 


141 


“ ‘My dear Mrs Dowling: 

“ ‘Pardon me for breaking my engagement; bnt a 
rush of important business—long distance messages, 
telegrams, telephone calls—has made it impossible for 
me to leave the hotel. All this work came upon me 
suddenly; and your boy Joe had much to do with it. I 
want to compliment you on Joe. He, assisted by Louis 
Davico, has, I believe, saved my life. Whether that be 
true or no, one thing is certain: he and Louis have 
done a signal service to the nation. Joe is a brave boy, 
thinks quickly, and acts quickly too. You may well 
be proud of your boy.—Tomorrow evening I hope to 
be on hand. With this I am also sending a letter to 
Joe which I am sure he will read to you. With love to 
all and kisses to the little ones, I am, 

‘ L ‘Your friend, 

“ ‘Paul Francis.’ ” 

All eyes were turned upon Joe, who, sitting 
on the floor, was gazing as though hypnotized 
upon a sheet of note paper. 

“What’s the matter, Joe?” asked Peggy, lay¬ 
ing the hand of affection upon his shoulder. At 
the touch, Joe started, roused himself, and 
jumped to his feet. 

“What I want to know,” he began, addressing 
the whole world, “is whether I am awake or 
asleep.” 

“Awake,” said Frank. 

“Well, then, Peggy* please read this.” And 
Joe handed her the sheet of note paper. 

“ ‘My dear Joe: 

“ ‘I have no words at command to express my admi¬ 
ration for your wonderful work this afternoon, nor to 
give you any idea of how grateful I am to you. The 
man whose capture you and Louis brought about was 


142 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


badly wanted. There was one thousand dollars reward 
'offered for his capture. You and Louis are entitled to 
that reward—five hundred dollars each. There are 
some formalities to be attended to before the proper 
authorities make the payment. But I am taking the 
liberty of advancing you one hundred dollars on 
account-’ ” 

“Here it is,” said Joe, still looking very dazed, 
and taking out of his trousers pocket a roll of 
five dollar bills. “Here, Julia, you count ’em. 
I can’t. Gee! I know I’m not asleep, but I 
can’t believe it.” 

“ ‘I am advancing this money promptly because as 
your mother and sister are out of work, I am sure it 
will be of immediate assistance. Louis will be paid in 
full when the necessary formalities are complied with. 
As there may be some delay before the four hundred 
dollars still due you are paid, I want you to under¬ 
stand clearly that in case of any shortage of ready 
money, you may command me, or, if I be absent, 
Colonel Robert, at any time, for any sum up to fifty 
dollars. Among the telegrams I have just sent out is 
one to my wife. She and my little ones are now under 
orders to pray for you and the family morning and 
night. I am grateful, and I pray that I may be able 
to show my gratitude not by words but by deeds. God 
bless you all. 

“ - Devotedly, 

“ 'Paul Francis.’ ” 

“There are twenty of them,” whispered Julia 
as she returned the bills to Joe. 

“Here, Mother, they are yours,” said the boy, 
and as he handed them over the hero of the 
afternoon broke down. 

“Do you feel bad, Joe?” 



JOE IS REWARDED 


143 


“No,” sobbed the boy. “I feel good.” 

“We are now,” said Eileen, “very rich per¬ 
sons.” 

“Let’s have some ice-cream and take a trip 
to Ireland,” Frank proposed. 

The spell was broken; they were no longer 
dazed. The gloom was lifted. The winter was 
over and gone. The flowers—red roses—danced 
into their cheeks; and, although the trip to Ire¬ 
land was not taken up seriously, Marie and 
Julia, assisted by Joe, improvised a love feast— 
ice-cream being the principal feature. 

“Peggy, you needn’t worry about the weekly 
payments on the piano. Need she, Mother?” 
asked Joe. 

“And to think,” exclaimed Peggy, whose face 
just now was all sweetness and light, “that only 
today I had given up all hope of keeping it. It 
was to be taken away next Saturday.” 

“Who said,” demanded Julia, “that the Little 
Flower was lying down on the job?” 

“But, Joe,” pleaded Marie, “tell us all about 
it. We are dying to know.” 

“Oh, it was nothing at all. Anyhow, Lord 
Bountiful told us not to talk, and Louie and 
I have agreed not to say one word. We might 
say too much.” 

“Say, Mother,” said Frank, “Eileen and I 
have talked, and we are rich. May we have 
sausages for breakfast?” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“And pie?” 

“Yes, dear; at dinner.” 

While the twain shrieked and clapped their 
hands in sheer joy, Marie turned to Julia. 


144 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“Julia, I want to ask your pardon. I am a 
foolish girl; I know it.” 

“I love you, Marie,” said Julia simply. 

“And—and—pray for me; for now and then— 
and this is one of the times, Julia—I am afraid 
of myself.” 

“I will pray—to the Little Flower.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


INTRODUCING THE DELIGHTFUL DR. FEE 

O N Tuesday afternoon shortly after three 
o’clock, Joe Dowling and Louis Davico, 
their faces telling the tale of peace and 
good will toward all men, emerged from the 
sporting goods store of Spalding Brothers, 
which, as every one in Cincinnati knows, is situ¬ 
ated on Government Square. 

“Gee!” sighed Joe, “I wish we had a game to¬ 
morrow. I can hold any sort of a delivery with 
a glove like that.” 

“Good morning, boys,” came a cheery voice. 
The affable Colonel Bridwell, breathing grate¬ 
fully the fresh air, rejoicing in the golden sun¬ 
shine of a perfect summer day and looking as 
though the splendid weather was his own ar¬ 
rangement, paused in his walk and gazed with 
genial eyes upon the two pals. 

“Good morning, sir,” said Joe. “Oh, I say, 
Colonel, you ought to see the catcher’s glove I 
picked out. It’s a wonder. And I’ve got two 
bats that are going to put me up in the five 
hundred class.” 

“That’s so,” added Louis. “And Joe is going 
to let me use the bats, too. We’re partners, you 
know.” 

“The bill for ’em is four dollars and seventy- 
five cents.” 


i45 


146 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“And,” asked the Colonel, “are you paying for 
them out of your own pocket?” 

“Yes, sir—no, sir—that is—well, you know, 
Colonel, it’s this way. Last night I got a large 
sum of money. Of course, I turned it over to 
my mother; and now she is immensely wealthy.” 

The Colonel’s eyes twinkled. He remembered 
the time when a hundred dollars looked very 
Mg to him. He, too, had once been a small boy. 

“Now you know, sir, I haven’t had any pocket 
money for ever so long. And this morning I 
just went and asked Mother to let me have five 
dollars to spend as I pleased. She was awful 
nice about it, and told me to use good judgment 
in spending it. And I did, didn’t I, Louie.” 

“You sure did,” assented his pal. 

“But you haven’t spent it all,” the Colonel 
remarked. 

“No; there’s twenty-five cents left. Louie and 
I are now going to hare a chocolate sundae. The 
price for two is thirty cents; Louie has the extra 
nickel. And then, sir, I’m through. Don’t you 
think that’s all right, sir?” 

“How’s your mother?” asked the Colonel. 

“Not so well, sir. She had a sort of a fainting 
spell this morning, and we were all frightened. 
She keeps on getting weaker and weaker. I’ve 
been thinking about her ever since.” 

“Were you thinking about her while you were 
buying those things?” 

“That’s almost the only time when I was not 
thinking about her.” 

“And that,” said the Colonel, becoming rather 
serious, “is just the time you should have been 
thinking of her most.” 


INTRODUCING DR. FEE 


147 


“How do you mean, sir?” 

“I mean this. You love your mother—” 

“I should say I do.” 

“But how do you show your love? Why didn’t 
you think to get her some little gift out of your 
very own money? I’ll tell you why. You think 
that since your mother carries the purse, she 
can buy herself what she wants. And it’s true; 
she can. Also, it never occurred to you to think 
how much your mother would love any little 
thing from you. Children, the best of them, 
take all kinds of gifts and sacrifices from their 
mothers as a matter of course. It never occurs 
to them to make gifts of their own and sacrifices 
in return. Do you see what I mean?” 

“I guess you’re right, sir. I never thought of 
it that way.” 

“Let me put it to you in another way. Sup¬ 
pose your mother likes violets. She buys her¬ 
self a bunch, and takes them home. Of course, 
she gets enjoyment out of them. But suppose 
that you, a little boy of twelve, knowing that 
your mother likes violets, go and buy her a 
bunch out of your own money, don’t you think 
she’d enjoy them a lot more?” 

“Would she? I should say so. Say, Louie, 
you go back to Spalding’s, and tell that nice 
young lady that was so nice to us that the deal 
is off. I’ll see her tomorrow and maybe get 
something else.” 

“Oh, look here,” protested the Colonel, “I’m 
spoiling all your fun.” 

“No, you aren’t, sir: I can get a cheaper glove 
and one bat instead of two. I never went out 
of my way to do anything for my mother in my 


148 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


life. I do love her; but I never thought of it 
in that way.” 

“And that,” philosophized the Colonel, “is the 
way with most young boys and girls—even the 
best of them. They think of flowers for their 
mother when she is dead, which is about as sen¬ 
sible as the fellow who keeps all of his money 
intended for charity till he’s dead. He gets no 
fun out of giving it himself, and the lawyers and 
the courts get all the fun, and the relations 
whom he never knew get the money, and the poor 
get the gate. There are thousands of mothers 
who go to the grave in sorrow because their 
children never took the trouble to show by some 
outward sign the love that was really in their 
hearts.” 

“She says it will be all right, Joe,” announced 
Louis, coming out of Spalding’s. 

“Well, run along, boys. And remember this, 
whenever you strike anything good, let your 
mother in on it. The boy that doesn’t love his 
mother isn’t fit to keep company with Airedales.” 

“Thank you, sir,” said Joe. 

“Good-bye, sir,” said Louis. “I’ll remember 
what you said.” 

As the boys sped away, the Colonel entered 
Spalding’s. 

“Are you the young lady that was waiting on 
that little boy just now?” he inquired, picking 
out a young woman whose face showed kind¬ 
ness in every line. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“I thought as much from the description of 
you,” said the old youngster solemnly. “He said 


INTRODUCING DR. FEE 149 

yon were the kindest and the most beautiful 
saleslady that he had ever seen.” 

“How much money do you want to borrow, 
sir?” said the saleswoman demurely. 

“I don’t,” returned the Colonel. “But I’ll 
tell you what I do want. You’ve got Joe Dow¬ 
ling’s address?” 

“He gave it to me three times, sir. He was 
afraid I might send the goods to the wrong 
house.” 

“All right. Now, I’m Bob BridwelL” 

“Oh, indeed; I’ve heard of you.” 

“I’m not the one who was sent to jail the other 
day for signing other people’s names to checks.” 

The young woman giggled. 

“I know you’re not. You’re at the Savoy.” 

“Correct. Now you get those bats and that 
catcher’s glove together, and you send them to 
Joe Dowling early tomorrow morning.” 

“Certainly, sir.” 

“And charge to my account. Hold on. It’s 
only four dollars and seventy-five cents. Here’s 
the cash. And be sure to mark the package paid 
in full.” 

“Yes, sir. Anything else?” 

“If I were a younger man,” said the Colonel, 
“I’d be asking for your heart; but as it is-” 

“Oh, you’re not so old,” returned the young 
woman, “and although this is so sudden-” 

“Fare you well,” laughed Colonel Bridwell, 
beating a hasty retreat. 

The two boys, meantime, hastened over to 
O’Malley’s flower shop on Walnut. Both were 
keen on getting violets, failing to get which, Joe 
compromised on a dozen red roses. Attached to 



150 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


this bouquet was a card inscribed: “To Mother 
with love from Joe.” 

“That Colonel man has ideas,” said Louis. 

“I wonder where he gets them. Say, Louie, 
I feel better over this than the catcher’s glove. 
I know Mother will be surprised. And Louie, 
I want you to take them. It will be easier on 
me. And you tell her not to worry: I may be 
home late; but it will be all right.” 

“What are you up to now, Joe?” 

“I’ve got an idea. So long.” 

Then Joe, walking as far as Seventh, turned 
toward Vine. Passing that street, he stopped at 
a building consecrated to physicians’ offices. 
Entering the elevator, he asked to be let out at 
Dr. Fee’s suite. 

“Third floor.—Here you are,” said the elevator 
man. 

“I want to see Doctor Fee, Miss,” said Joe, 
politely removing his cap, and grinning at the 
young lady, who seated at a desk guarded the 
entry way. “Is he in?” 

“Why,” replied the young woman, returning 
Joe’s smile with interest, “I think he is. His 
office hours are over, but if he hasn’t gone out 
I’m sure he’ll see you. Sit down a moment and 
I’ll see.” 

“How nice everybody is to me,” thought Joe. 
It did not occur to him that others were nice to 
him because he himself was nice to them. 

“You are just in time. Doctor Fee was on the 
point of going out. He says to come right along.” 
She took Joe by the hand and presently, opening 
a door, motioned him in. “I’ll take your name 
and address afterward,” she said. 


INTRODUCING DR. FEE 


151 


Seated at a table, legs spread out and hands in 
pockets, was a middle-aged man who looked 
young. His eyes were bent on the floor, his face 
thoughtful in expression; he was in what is 
commonly known as a brown study. 

On hearing Joe’s entrance, he lifted his eyes— 
kindly eyes beaming from behind a pince-nez— 
and gazed inquiringly at the boy, who at once 
grinned broadly. 

“Why, upon my word,” cried the doctor, the 
look of care vanishing from his face, “how do 
you do?” 

“Fine and dandy, sir. Say, aren’t you a friend 
of Father Carney?” 

“I should say I am. He is one of my beloved 
patients.” 

“I like him, too,” said Joe, “awful much.” 

“So? Then welcome,” said the genial doctor, 
extending his arms in greeting. 

Joe skipped over and shook hands warmly, 
while the doctor glanced sharply at the lad’s 
face. 

“You don’t mean to say you’re ill.” 

“No, sir; my name is Joe Dowling.” 

“A fine name, Joe. No; you don’t look sick, 
though I do believe a juicy beefsteak would do 
you no harm.” 

“Gee!” laughed Joe, already perfectly at 
home. “I should like that first rate, sir.” 

“Well, what have you come about, Joe?” 

“I want you to do me a great favor, sir.” 

“And that is?” 

“My mother is sick. We’ve been very poor 
for a long time, and she’s getting weaker and 


152 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


weaker. And she hasn’t had a doctor yet. And 
do you know why, sir?” 

“I’d be glad to know.” 

“Well, here’s the way I dope it out. She’s 
been saving money on herself to spend it on us— 
myself and my brothers and sisters.” 

“That,” said the doctor emphatically, his fine 
features expressing sympathy, “was fine.” 

“She’s a good sport, sir.” 

There was a twinkle in the doctor’s eye. 

“But now, doctor, it’s different.” 

“How so, Joe?” 

“We are no longer poor.” 

“Good!” 

“In fact, we are now quite wealthy.” 

“Wonderful.” 

“Yes; we have now ninety-five dollars on hand, 
with four hundred more to come in in a month 
or two.” 

“That,” said the doctor, forcing down lighter 
emotions and almost suppressing the twinkling 
in his eyes, “is what the writers of novels call 
‘untold wealth’.” 

“Do they, sir? I guess it is. Now, doctor, 
mother has given me five dollars to spend and 
I’ve already got away with one dollar. I have 
four left.” 

“Yes?” 

“Now would that be enough for you to take a 
good look at her? It’s a present from me for 
her.” 

“Pardon my curiosity: but what did you do 
with the other dollar?” 

“I bought a dozen red roses.” 

“Oh, you like roses? I do myself.” 


INTRODUCING DR. FEE 


153 


“They were for Mother, sir.” 

“Well! You certainly must love her!” 

“I do, sir; but it was Colonel Bridwell who 
gave me the big idea. If Fd been left to myself, 
I’d have blown it in on myself. You know how 
it is, sir.” 

“Colonel Bridwell!” repeated the doctor, de¬ 
light shining upon his face. 

“You know him, sir?” 

“He’s another beloved patient of mine. Joe, 
my boy, you have great skill in picking out your 
friends.” 

“Perhaps, doctor, you know Lord Bountiful.” 

“Who?” 

“Oh, I mean Paul Francis. He’s a pippin.” 

“Tell me about him.” 

Joe grew eloquent; and he was eloquent be¬ 
cause he loved. The doctor gave ear with un¬ 
divided attention and growing delight. To him 
it was a splendid quarter of an hour. When Joe 
had done with his unvarnished tale, the doctor 
was wondering whether the Little Flower was 
not one of Joe’s most intimate friends. 

“Joe,” said he, when the boy had come to a 
pause, “I’m due at the Good Samaritan Hospital 
in an hour. But if necessary my patients there 
can wait. As to the fee, one thing is sure; it 
won’t cost you anything like four dollars. Per¬ 
haps you’ll have enough left to buy that catch¬ 
er’s glove, anyhow.” 

Joe grinned wildly. He was already in love 
with Doctor Fee. 

“Here we go, Joe,” resumed the doctor, put¬ 
ting on his hat, and picking up a small hand- 


154 LORD BOUNTIFUL 

satchel. “If you’ve no objection, I’ll take you 
in my car.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Mother,” cried Joe, bursting in on the in¬ 
valid, “I’ve brought you a present: here’s Doc¬ 
tor Fee. He’s the man that saved Father Car¬ 
ney, and he’s a friend of the Colonel; and he’s 
going to fix you up, too.” 

Doctor Fee, brisk and smiling, shook hands 
with the good woman, fondled the little ones, 
paid his respects to Julia, Marie and Peggy; 
having done all of which in the manner of one 
attending a wedding feast and not a sick per¬ 
son, he requested all except Peggy to go into the 
adjoining room. 

“Oh, Joe,” said Marie, “you should have seen 
Mother when Louis brought the flowers.” 

“She laughed and she cried,” said Julia. 

“How did you come to think of it, Joe?” 
asked Marie. 

“I didn’t. It was the Colonel. He’s awful 
smart.” 

“And when,” said Julia, “Mother said, ‘God 
bless and protect my darling little Joe/ I nearly 
cried myself.” 

“Oh,” said Joe, “how I hope that Doctor Fee 
will cure her. I feel sure he can.” 

Then Frank and Eileen fell to discussing the 
sort of flowers they would buy for Mother when 
they became wealthy like Joe. Their tastes dif¬ 
fered widely. The discussion waxed hot, and 
might, possibly, have led to a quarrel, had not 
the door to Mother’s room been thrown open, 
revealing the doctor, his serene features serener 
than ever. 


INTRODUCING DR. FEE 155 

“Well, doctor/’ cried Joe eagerly. “What’s 
the news?” 

The doctor’s lips parted slightly. His eyes 
danced. 

“I—I—I’m just tickled to death!” he an¬ 
nounced. 

Judging by the manner in which this an¬ 
nouncement was received, the children were 
tickled to death, too. 

“Funny expression—isn’t it?” he said in an 
aside to Peggy. “Children, there’s nothing at all 
the matter with your mother. She’s well.” 

“Well?” came the echo. 

“Yes, well. The only trouble with her is that 
she loves you too much.” 

Julia and Marie and Joe exchanged puzzled 
glances. 

“Ever since the finances of the family got low, 
your mother, children, has been stinting herself 
to feed you. And she improved in stinting her¬ 
self with practice. For more than a month your 
mother, without knowing it, has been starving 
herself to death.” 

There was a groan from the listeners. 

“I feel quite sure that if it had not been for 
those two beefsteak meals sent by Colonel 
Bridwell, your mother would by this time have 
been dead or dying. The Colonel saved her life.” 

“Oh!” moaned Peggy. “How blind we have 
been.” 

“She is one of the noblest women I have ever 
met. I want to see her again. Peggy, remember 
my instructions, and she’ll be up in three days 
and around in a week. But when I come again, 
it will be, I trust, as a friend-” 



156 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“You bet,” roared Joe. 

“And not as a doctor. Good-bye, children. 
No, no, Joe, keep those dollars. Oh, very well, 
if you’ll have it so, I’ll take one.” 

That night, the dollar, neatly framed, hung 
oyer Doctor Fee’s bed. It is there yet. 


CHAPTER XIV 

THE BEGINNING OF AN EVENTFUL DAY 

O N Friday morning, the last day of the no¬ 
vena, Mrs. Dowling arose and made her 
way, assisted by Peggy, to the breakfast 
table. It was a happy reunion. 

“This novena,” said Joe, “my novena, has been 
nearly a one hundred per cent success.” 

“And today is the last day,” mused Julia. 
“Who knows but the one-half of one per cent 
may come in today. IPs hard to tire out the 
Little Flower. She likes to be asked for favors. 
I’ve been reading her life. She was born in 1873, 
and she died a young girl in 1897. She was only 
twenty-four then.” 

“If she were alive now, children,” said the 
mother, “she would be only seven years older 
than I am. She was born the same year as your 
father.” 

“If God loved her so,” said Marie, “why did 
He let her die so young?” 

“That ? s easy, Marie,” said Julia. “She wanted 
to die young.” 

“But why?” 

“Little Therese—she likes to be called little 
—was a very original sort of a saint. Lots of 
pious people want to live long so as to work 
harder for God: now the Little Flower wanted 
i57 


158 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


to die young because she claimed she could do 
more to help people if she were in heaven than 
if she were on earth.” 

“I don’t see that at all,” said Marie. “Why, 
I want to live a long life. I can do more good 
in forty years than in twenty, can’t I?” 

“Just as like as not,” said Joe, helping himself 
to another piece of beefsteak, “you’d do twice 
as much harm.” 

“Any girl,” observed Julia, “who goes run¬ 
ning around with a talking doll who hasn’t sense 
enough to keep her hair one color for three 
weeks at a time, isn’t in danger of doing much 
good on earth or anywhere else. I refer to 
Myrtle Merrick.” 

“She loves me!” retorted Marie. 

“I wonder what for?” asked Joe. 

“I doubt,” observed Peggy, “whether she loves 
you for what is best in you, Marie,” whereat 
Marie uncurled her lip. 

“Maybe she loves you,” said Julia, “for the 
way your hair sits, or for your penciled eye¬ 
lashes.” 

“I’ll bet it’s some fool thing like that,” said 
Joe. “She got mushy over a boy of sixteen on 
Ellen Street for the way he had of holding a 
cigarette. If the Little Flower loves you, Marie, 
it’s not because you think you’re pretty.” 

“Of course the Little Flower loves her,” pur¬ 
sued Julia. “In fact, the bigger the sinner you 
are, the more she loves ypu.” 

Marie gazed sharply at the speaker. That 
young lady looked so artless that it was hard to 
take offense. 

“Yes,” the artless one continued, “the Little 


AN EVENTFUL DAY 


159 


Flower said, ‘I will spend my time in heaven 
doing good npon earth/ ” 

“She is certainly keeping her word,” observed 
the mother. 

“And, Mother,” pursued Julia. “She was so 
sure of herself. She had no doubt about her 
power to do good. One of the famous things she 
said—it’s in great big letters in the book about 
her—is this: ‘In heaven, the good God will 
do all I desire because I have never done my 
own will upon earth/ ” 

“And what was that other pretty thing she 
said, Julia?” asked Joe. “You told me yester¬ 
day.” 

“Her other saying,” answered Julia, taking 
a second glass of milk, “was the most beautiful 
one of all. Whenever I think of it, I just fancy 
myself in a beautiful garden full of flowers and 
of lovely little children. Here it is: ‘After my 
death, I will let fall a shower of roses/ ” 

“Like the kind Joe got for Mother?” asked 
Frank. 

“No, Frank; I don’t think so. It means a 
shower of benefits which are beautiful—and— 
and-” 

“Fragrant,” suggested the mother. 

“Thank you, Mother. Beautiful and fragrant 
because they are red with love and fragrance, 
with the sweetness of the Little Flower.” 

“You didn’t make that up,” said Marie. 

“No; I did not. I heard Father Carney say 
it.” 

“Well,” said Joe, “all I’ve got to say is that 
the roses have been falling pretty fast in this 



160 LORD BOUNTIFUL 

family—especially since yon began that novena 
of mine.” 

“That novena of yours?” There was scorn in 
Marie’s voice. 

“Yes,” returned Joe tranquilly, “that novena 
of mine. It was my big idea. Rose number one 
was the steak for Mother sent by the Colonel. 
Then came rose number two, the return of Lord 
Bountiful. Rose number three, the visit of 
Father Carney.” 

“Don’t forget to put in, Joe, that if it had not 
been for Father Carney’s leaving five dollars, I 
don’t know how we could have made out for the 
next two or three days.” 

“It was to me,” said Marie, tossing her head, 
“that Father Carney presented the gold piece.” 

“Most of the Little Flower’s roses are with¬ 
out thorns,” said Julia. “That one came to 
Mother with one thorn-” 

“Go on, Joe,” said Marie hastily. 

“Rose number four, that second beefsteak 
meal for Mother and all of us—no thorn about 
that. Rose number five, Lord Bountiful’s treat 
and presents to the whole family. Rose number 
six, his visits every night, and his money for 
hiring the front room.” 

“Every visit he makes is a rose,” put in Julia. 
“He’s a shower of roses himself. Go on, Joe. 
It’s good to recall those things.” 

“Rose number seven, the way Lord Bountiful 
got the drop on those two men. Rose number 
eight, the five hundred dollar reward. Just look 
at the spread we’re having now. Eating like 
lords and getting up from table without feeling 



AN EVENTFUL DAY 161 

hungry. Say, Mother, may we have chicken for 
Sunday?” 

“If Peggy gets a place/’ she answered, “we’ll 
have chicken and pie and ice-cream. But go on, 
Joe.” 

“Bose number nine, the talk I had with the 
Colonel. He showed me how selfish I was to my 
own mother.” 

“You were not selfish, Joe,” said Mrs. 
Dowling. 

“Bose number ten, Doctor Fee’s visit; and rose 
number eleven, and best of all, Mother’s cure.” 

“Hurrah!” cried Eileen. 

“You can’t expect roses without thorns,” said 
Marie. 

“That is true,” admitted Julia. “Suppose I 
count the thorns. Thorn number one, Mother’s 
sickness. Thorn number two, Peggy’s losing 
her position. Thorn number three, Marie’s 
friendship for Myrtle.” 

“You will please leave me out of the conver¬ 
sation,” said Marie. 

“We can’t,” argued Julia, “without leaving 
you out of the family.” 

“Only three thorns,” said Joe, “and Mother’s 
cure has turned one thorn into a rose. As soon 
as Peggy gets a place, another thorn will be 
gone. That leaves only one thorn. That’s 
Myrtle. I have heard grown folks say that she 
is "beautiful. When they’ve said that, they’ve 
said everything.” 

“Beauty,” said Marie loftily, “is a sufficient 
reason for its own existence.” 

“Where did you get that,” asked Joe, “and 
what does it mean?” 


162 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“It means that people who are really beauti¬ 
ful are worth having around, even if they do 
nothing, say nothing, and are of no use.” 

“That,” said Julia, “is all right for a rainbow 
or a sunset; but you know from your catechism, 
Marie, what man was created for. And, besides, 
it might be all right, in a way, if beauty didn’t 
say anything, but Myrtle says a lot.” 

“She would talk your arm off,” said Joe, “if 
you didn’t head her off. Next time we make a 
novena to the Little Flower, suppose we ask her 
to give Myrtle a lot more brains-” 

“And a lot less tongue,” added Julia. 

“And suppose we also ask the Little Flower,” 
spoke the mother, “to make us kind and chari¬ 
table in speaking of every one.” 

“That’s right,” said Joe. “She dresses nicely.” 

“And she’s clean as a pin,” said Julia. 

“She’s always cheerful,” Joe went on. 

“And she doesn’t use profane language.” Julia 
was hard put to it to say nice things of Myrtle. 

“And,” said Joe, unable to refrain from the 
idea suggested by Julia, “she never robs banks 
or holds up trains.” 

“You think you’re funny, Joe Dowling.” 

“Yes, Marie; I know it. Sometimes I think 
I’m too funny to live.” 

“I can’t say I like your jokes.” 

“Marie,” answered Julia, “always loses her 
sense of humor when she gets to going with 
Myrtle.” 

“■JYell, children,” interposed Mrs. Dowling 
hastily, and thus depriving Marie of an oppor¬ 
tunity to blaze forth at her brother and sister, 
“since this is the last day of the novena, let us 



AN EVENTFUL DAY 


163 


remember first of all your dear father. The 
army people hold that he is dead, and are work¬ 
ing now on the matter of back pay and a widow’s 
pension. But I don’t want to believe it.” 

“Neither do I,” said Julia. “I dreamt of him 
last night.” 

“And next, children. While we have enough 
money to carry us on for a while, we all want 
Peggy to get a good position, and resume her 
music lessons. Just now under the doctor’s or¬ 
ders we are living rather expensively. He wants 
us to have plenty of good meat, lots of milk, eggs, 
and fresh vegetables in season.” 

“We are living like people with autos,” said 
Joe. 

“I love Doctor Fee,” said Frank. 

“Me, too,” added Eileen. 

“And there’s one more thing,” continued the 
mother. 

“I know,” said Joe. “It’s the twins.” 

“Yes, children. Oh, how I miss them. And 
do ask the Little Flower to arrange things so 
that we can get them back; or, if that cannot 
be, at least that they do not lose their love for 
me and you.” 

“And I’m praying,” said Julia, “that they 
may not grow up to be snobs.” 

“What are ‘snobs,’ Julia?” asked Eileen. 

“People who look down on those poorer than 
themselves, and look up at people who are richer. 
Father Carney says that snobs are ever so much 
more vulgar than poor people.” 

The conversation was now halted by a sharp 
knock at the door. 


164 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“It's something from the Little Flower,” said 
Julia, as Joe threw the door open. 

It was a messenger boy. 

“A letter for Mrs. John Dowling,” he said. 

“Oh, quick, Mother; read it,” pleaded Joe, as 
he closed the door and with three bounds brought 
the missive to the mother. 

“Why,” she said, as tearing open the envelope 
she ran her eye over the page, “it’s from Colonel 
Bridwell.” 

The children in various ways gave demonstra¬ 
tions of glee. 

“Thank God,” she presently exclaimed. “Lis¬ 
ten, children.” 

“ ‘Dear Mrs. Dowling: 

4 ‘ ‘ The young lady who attends our switchboard at 
the Savoy has been suddenly called upon to leave for 
Los Angeles to visit a very sick relative. She will be 
gone for at least three weeks. Lord Bountiful tells 
me that your daughter Peggy is out of a position, and 
that she knows all about a switchboard. Could she 
come tomorrow at nine sharp ? I ’ll see to it that she 
gets twenty-five per cent more salary than she got at 
her last place. Also, I can assure you that she will be 
treated with courtesy by the guests here. By the time 
the three weeks are up, I feel practically certain that 
another position will be awaiting her. I met your little 
boy, Joe, the other day, and I want to say that I like 
him very much. How is Marie ? She made a splendid 
impression on me. With all good wishes, 

“ ‘Yours truly, 

“ ‘Bob.’ ” 

“Hurrah!” cried Joe. “There’s another rose. 
And in counting up a while ago I forgot to put 


AN EVENTFUL DAY 165 

in that catcher’s glove and those bats that came 
anyhow.” 

“It’s almost too good to be true,” said Peggy. 
“This means that I can start music lessons again. 
It means, too, that we can continue having the 
kind of meals Doctor Fee wants us to have.” 

“And, my dear Joe,” said Mrs. Dowling, “you 
have forgotten one of the most beautiful roses 
of all.” 

“What is that, Mother?” 

“The twelve roses you sent me. The moment 
they came into my hands and I read the card 
you sent with them was the happiest moment I 
had since your dear father left us to fight in the 
great cause. It was not the flowers, but the ex¬ 
pression of your love which came with them, 
that gave me a moment of real bliss.” 

Joe blushed hotly. He was delighted and con¬ 
fused. He wanted to say something, and knew 
not what to say, when he was relieved by a light, 
continuous tapping at the door. 

“Maybe it’s the Little Flower herself,” said 
J ulia. 

“I hope it is,” whispered Eileen. 

Marie had hastened to greet the caller. As 
she threw open the door, Joe growled to Julia: 

“Can you beat it?” 

No; it was not the Little Flower, nor one of 
that sweet saint’s messengers. It was Myrtle 
Merrick. 


CHAPTER XV 


INTRODUCING A REAL FLAPPER AND THE WORST 
TYPE OF LOUNGE-LIZARD 

ood morning, everybody,” cried the young 
VJT miss with a smile, a radiant smile that 
comprehended everybody. “It’s a sweet 

day.” 

Receiving a greeting from each one, Myrtle 
continued: 

“How is Lord Bountiful?” 

“Fine and dandy,” said Frank. 

“Isn’t he lovely?” continued the blue-eyed, yel¬ 
low-haired doll. “The girl that catches him 
will be lucky. Such adorable eyes, and such a 
manly stride—and did any of you notice how 
straight his lashes are over his eyes?” 

“Aw, go on,” said Joe. “He’s married. 
There’s no danger for him; he’s married a wo¬ 
man who had sense.” 

“Oh!” faltered Myrtle, thrown out of her 
stride. “That’s too bad. I mean that’s too good. 
What was I talking about? Oh, yes. Say, 
Marie, can I see you outside for a moment?” 

“Certainly,” said Marie, her voice betraying 
a certain eagerness. 

“Well; Myrtle,” she whispered, when the two 
were alone on the landing without, “any news?” 

“Yes; last night I met him at a Fifth Street 
picture house.” 


166 


INTRODUCING A FLAPPER 


167 


“You did! Did you speak to Mm?” 

“Yes; he came and sat next to me. And how 
he did go on about you!” 

“Oh, did he?” whispered Marie, actually quiv¬ 
ering with delight. “And what did he say?” 

“He said all sorts of nice things.” 

“Oh, please tell me.” 

“He said that he’d met young ladies in New 
York City, no end of them, but that for beauty 
you had all of them thrown in the shade.” 

“Did he really?” gurgled Marie. “Oh, Myr¬ 
tle, he really doesn’t mean it.” 

“Oh, yes, he does. And he asked all kinds of 
questions about your dancing.” 

“And what did you say?” 

“I told him you were a fairy, and that Pro¬ 
fessor Wright, the best dancing teacher in town, 
said that you could rank above a lot of profes¬ 
sionals. And he was so delighted. Say, Marie, 
his raven black hair looked lovely, and there 
was a little curl that came down over his fore¬ 
head on the left side which was just killing.” 

“And what else did he say?” 

“He said it was a shame for you to be hidden 
away when your beauty alone—even if you were 
not a dancer—would cause a sensation! He’s 
been fixing up his moustache, Marie, and he’s 
got it twisted at the ends like a—like a—dream.” 

The two went on to discuss the unknown 
young man’s moustache, his wonderful chin— 
just like those square-chinned noble-looking men 
who are pictured in advertising pages wearing 
certain brands of collars; his small hands, his 
manicured nails. All this was intensely inter¬ 
esting to the two young ladies. Marie, to whom 


168 LOKD BOUNTIFUL 

flattery was a species of intoxicant, was drunk 
with vanity. 

And indeed the reader will now begin to un¬ 
derstand the sad change that had taken place 
in her during the course of the novena. She 
had met this unknown at a moving picture show. 
He had given her his seat so that she and Myrtle 
could sit together. This courtesy had won from 
her a smile and a word of thanks. In the “News 
of the Week,” there were several scenes laid in 
New York City. The unknown had kindly ex¬ 
plained the nature of the locality and thrown in 
such additional scraps of information as would 
pave the way to further acquaintanceship. Also 
when Marie said anything, no matter how com¬ 
monplace, he had listened to her with a defer¬ 
ence which caused her to believe that every 
word coming from her mouth was a pearl of 
wisdom or of wit. In a word, he flattered her 
grossly. The simple child believed him wise 
and sincere. 

There are those who crave flattery as the toper 
craves liquor. Marie became drunk with praise, 
honeyed words, and supreme deference. Ever 
since meeting him, she had been indulging in a 
debauch of conceit. Any one, no matter how 
sensible normally, becomes a fool once he is 
under the full domination of some vice. Poor 
Marie, carried away by the “witchery of trifles” 
went about with an intelligence so darkened 
that she was no longer able to reason. She was 
in a dangerous condition. 

When Myrtle and Marie had discoursed to¬ 
gether for fully half an hour, they re-entered 
the room. 


INTRODUCING A FLAPPER 169 


“Mrs. Dowling/’ said Myrtle, “I’ve come to 
ask you a favor.” 

“Yes, Myrtle.” 

“I should like to have Marie come over to 
our house after dinner for an hour or so.—Oh, 
no, ma’am, we’re not going downtown.” 

“I really do not like to say no,” said the 
woman, “but I may need Marie-” 

“But, Mrs. Dowling, I need her help. Mother 
has some stuff for making a dozen shirt-waists 
for some poor children cared for by the Vincent 
de Paul Society. She promised to have them 
ready by tomorrow. She has a sore finger; and 
I told her I’d try and get Marie to help me. We 
work together well.” 

Mrs. Dowling could not refuse anything in 
the way of charity. 

“And you’ll not keep her long?” 

“Oh, no, Mrs. Dowling. If she comes at one, 
she ought to be back by four at the latest.” 

“Very well, Myrtle.” 

Shortly after one o’clock that afternoon, Joe 
Dowling, having first obtained permission from 
his mother to see Louis Davico on a most im¬ 
portant matter, hurried on till he reached the 
dwelling place of his tried and true pal. 

Of course, he did not go in. That is not the 
way of the small boy. Standing without, he 
gave three shrill whistles. Waiting for sev¬ 
eral minutes, and getting no reply, he opened 
his mouth and let forth a sound which was very 
much in the nature of a yodel without any musi¬ 
cal setting. Louis came out. 

“Halloa, Joe; what’s up?” 

“Louie, I’m afraid.” 



170 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“Afraid; aw, go and chase yourself. You’re 
not afraid of anything. 7 ’ 

“Yes, I am; my sister Marie has been acting 
mighty queer lately. 77 

“That 7 s nothing, Joe. The girls around here 
of that age, lots of them, haven’t one bit of 
sense. They make me tired.” 

“But this isn’t the every-day fool stuff that 
those fool girls pull off. You remember the 
day after the game when we saw her and Myrtle 
near Walnut.” 

“Sure, I do.” 

“Well, I’ve found out that she went to a pic¬ 
ture show that afternoon.” 

“Well, where’s the harm in that?” 

“There’s no harm at all in it, so far as going 
to see a good show goes; but Marie went with¬ 
out Mother’s leave. And she’s been doing that 
before.” 

“I don’t see anything terrible in that either, 
Joe. Why, I go to the movies without my 
mother’s leave.” 

“Well, perhaps your mother doesn’t care.” 

Louis reflected for a moment. 

“She does, and she doesn’t, Joe. It’s this way. 
My mother has seven children, and I’m the old¬ 
est. She’s nursing a baby now. She has to 
cook, to clean house, to dress the children, and 
about a hundred more little things like that. 
At night, she’s dead tired. Say, Joe, I put it 
to you, how can she care, even if she wants to 
care? Dad is home at night, but he can’t help 
much. He’s dead tired, too. My oldest sister, 
who is ten, can help a little; but it isn’t much.” 


INTRODUCING A FLAPPER 171 


“That’s pretty hard, Louie. How can she 
stand it?” 

“It never struck me how hard it was till last 
spring, a week or two after the baby came. 
There was a fine lady visitor came to our house. 
She asked about all of us, and poked her nose 
into everything in our flat. Then she told Mother 
how to train her children properly, and how, to 
do this, she must always know where every child 
is at any minute of the night or day, and what 
each is doing. She told Mother how to care for 
our teeth and how to dress us for school and how 
to feed us.” 

“Good stuff,” said Joe. 

“Then she said that she had five children all 
about grown up, and that they were remarkably 
good children because she had never neglected 
them. She went on and said that it was no 
wonder there were so many bad children, be¬ 
cause their mothers were so careless in watch¬ 
ing over them. Now what makes me remember 
all this, Joe, is what my mother said after that 
fine lady with fine rings on her fingers left.” 

“What did she say, Louie?” 

“Why, she scared me. There was a statue of 
the Blessed Virgin in the room, and Mother, who 
had stopped washing clothes to listen to the 
lady, ran over to it, and raised her hands and 
said something like this. You know, Joe, Mother 
talks English poorly—she’s had no time to learn, 
so I’ll sort of say it in my own way. ‘Holy 
Mother of God!’ Mother said, ‘the great lady has 
brought up five children the right way. I have 
seven children all coming close together, and 
she wants me to do what she did. But the rich 


172 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


lady had a maid and a cook and another girl; 
and she had some one to do the washing and 
ironing. She had time and money. O Holy 
Mother, tell me how I can do it, too; and wash 
and cook and clean.’ Then Mother began to cry, 
and I felt sorry for her.” 

“What’s the answer?” asked the sympathetic 
Joe. 

“Search me. All I know is that Mother can’t 
do it. And we do run round wild. But who’s 
to blame?” 

“Say,” said Joe brightly. “Let’s ask Colonel 
Bridwell about it. He’s way up on mothers. 
But you see, Louie, in our family it’s been dif¬ 
ferent. Peggy and Marie and Julia have been 
able to help, and so Mother has been able to 
keep track of us, even after she started out to 
work. But since she’s been ill, she’s not been 
able to do anything. And it’s different with 
Marie than with you. Marie knows that Mother 
wants to know where she is. And she’s been 
fooling her.” 

“Yes,” considered Louis; “I see there is a dif¬ 
ference. But what are you worrying about?” 

“Myrtle’s been around and got Mother’s per¬ 
mission to let Marie go to her house to help 
sew shirt-waists for poor little boys.” 

“That sounds all right.” 

“Think again, Louie. I can’t see Myrtle Mer¬ 
rick spending two or three hours sewing shirts 
for little boys. It might be different if it was 
big boys.” 

“That’s right,” Louis agreed. 

“Now, suppose we make a sneak to Ellen 
Street, and pass Myrtle’s house. And keep our 


INTRODUCING A FLAPPER 173 


eyes open. Believe me, Myrtle Merrick has 
something np her sleeve.” 

“All right, Joe.” 

The pals made their way to the steps leading 
down to Kilgour. Turning past the Morgan 
public school, they pursued their downward 
course to Ellen Street. A few children were 
playing on the walks, among them Master Earl 
Merrick, Myrtle’s youngest brother, who, to the 
envy of several boys of tender years, was ex¬ 
tracting weird sounds from a jew’s-harp. 

“Halloa, Earl,” said Joe. 

“Listen to this,” said Earl, resuming his per¬ 
formance. 

“It’s fine,” broke in Joe, “but we’re in a hurry. 
How are Myrtle and Marie getting on with their 
sewing?” 

“They’ve just gone off downtown,” said Earl. 

“What!” cried both boys in a breath. 

“Yes; they have. You ought to see Myrtle’s 
earrings. And they are both fixed up like they’re 
going to a show.” 

“Yes,” supplemented a boy of ten; “you just 
ought to see them. They’ve got their war paint 
on.” 

Joe and Louis exchanged glances. 

“Come on, let’s go,” said Joe. 

“But where?” 

“Let’s think this thing out, Louie. It’s ten 
to one they’ve gone to the movies. But which 
one?” 

“Mae Murray is in town.” 

“Is she? The old pie-face! Marie’s crazy 
about her. It’s a cinch Marie has gone to see 
her. What house is it at?” 


174 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“The Walnut.” 

“Good. That’s our way. I wonder will they 
let us in to see.” 

“Hardly.” 

“We can try, anyhow.” 

“Say, sir,” said Joe presently, addressing the 
ticket-taker of the Walnut. “Would you mind 
letting us two in for a few minutes?” 

The man, a good-natured fellow, grinned and 
shook his head. 

“You kids wouldn’t care much for this show, 
anyhow.” 

“You can have the show,” said Joe. “Give 
me Tom Mix or Bill Hart or Charlie Chaplin 
or Tom Meighan or Harold Lloyd. We don’t 
want to see the show. We’re looking for some 
one. Please let us in, just for a few minutes.” 

The door-man caught the eye of an usher. 
“Tell the manager I want to see him,” he said. 

“What is it, Bill?” asked an alert young man, 
who as he spoke took in the waiting boys. 

“These two kids want to look around for a 
minute. They are not anxious to see the show.” 

“Honor bright, boys?” 

“Sure,” they answered. 

“Who you lookin’ for?” 

“Oh, two girls. Say, sir, it’s no love stuff.” 

The manager was not favorably impressed. 

“If there’s anything that I despise,” he said, 
“it is puppy love.” 

“Joe Dowling’s not that sort, sir,” said Louis. 
“He and I are pals, and I ought to know.” 

“One of the girls,” Joe said, with a blush, “is 
my sister. I just want to see whether she’s 
here.” 


INTRODUCING A FLAPPER 175 


“Well, yon look like an honest boy. Step in 
and move about quietly. Don’t attract any at¬ 
tention.” 

“We don’t want to, sir. Thank you. Now, 
Louie, you go on the right side and I’ll take the 
left. Marie always likes to sit up toward the 
front—not farther away from the curtain than 
the middle.” 

Joe began by taking a seat in the rear. When 
his eyes grew accustomed to the semi-darkness, 
he looked about him with no results. He went 
up a few rows of seats farther and again strained 
his eyes into the gloom. 

“I’m sure she’s not on this side of the house,” 
he said, and returned to the lobby. He almost 
ran into Louis. 

“Nothing doing,” said the latter. “What 
about looking upstairs?” 

“She never goes there,” said Joe. “But wait 
a moment! She and Myrtle may want to gas. 
Maybe they’ve gone up there where they’ll have 
more elbow room. We had better look.” 

Joe presented himself to the manager, who 
readily gave him and his companion permis¬ 
sion to explore farther. 

“Look! look!” came in an excited whisper 
from Louie, pointing at the row of seats in the 
extreme rear. 

There was no mistake about it. The front 
rows were comfortably filled. Then came a large 
empty space, back of which were grouped a 
party of four, two of whom were the girls they 
were seeking. For this group, the photoplay 
appeared to have no interest. 


176 LORD BOUNTIFUL 

“Who are those men?” asked Joe, alarm in his 
voice. 

“Let’s get over nearer,” suggested Louie, 
“where we can see them better.” 

Carefully picking their way, the boys were 
shortly within a few feet of the chattering 
group. 

“Say,” growled Joe with a sinking sensation, 
“it’s a mush party. Who’s that guy with 
Marie?” 

“He looks like a small fellow,” said Louis. 
“Never saw him before. He’s a dude, I think.” 

“I want to see him so I’ll know him again, 
Louie. It’s pretty dark here. He’s got a small 
face, and a moustache that’s twisted at the ends. 
What’s his complexion?” 

As they strained their eyes to get further de¬ 
tails, the lights suddenly went up. The time 
had come for the orchestra to vary the entertain¬ 
ment with special music. 

At once they took in the party. The young 
man seated with Marie was considerably older 
than one would judge from a casual glance. He 
was probably over thirty years of age. His 
black glossy hair parted in the middle was im¬ 
pressive. His eyes were large and dark and, 
Joe felt, shifty; his forehead high and narrow, 
his features dark. He was dressed to accentu¬ 
ate his seeming youthfulness. He was rolling 
those eyes at Marie, and, judging by the girl’s 
face, uttering sweet nothings. Joe continued 
his study of the group. Myrtle was in excellent 
company. Her companion was a slip of a boy 
who could by no possibility be quite so silly as 
he looked. The young lady herself was perfectly 


INTRODUCING A FLAPPER 177 


at home with him. They were two souls with¬ 
out a single thought. At any rate, reflected the 
observant Joe, he was harmless. Not so, how¬ 
ever, with the other man. There was a foxiness 
about his features, an expression of long experi¬ 
ence in the art of humbug, the flush which in 
men under forty usually indicates self-indul¬ 
gence, certain lines of haggardness hinting of 
dissipation. Joe did not sense all this; but he 
felt within him a sort of horror, a loathing, a 
sense as of an evil presence. 

The boy began to feel himself seized by a sort 
of fascination. He could not take his eyes off 
the fellow. He felt as though he were rooted to 
the spot. Suddenly the spell was broken. The 
man, as though Joe’s gaze made itself felt upon 
him, suddenly turned his head. His eyes met 
Joe’s—eyes that showed shiftiness in the mo¬ 
mentary gaze. He nudged Marie, who, turning, 
saw her brother. Marie’s jaw dropped, her color 
faded, she caught the man’s arm as though for 
protection. 

“How,” Joe asked, laboring at each word, 
“are you and Myrtle getting on with those 
shirts?” Saying these words, not knowing him¬ 
self why he had said them, Joe turned and mo¬ 
tioning Louis made his way downstairs. Half 
way down, he heard the light tripping of feet 
following him. 

“Joe, Joe!” came Marie’s voice. 

He paused and turned. 

“Joe,” she cried again, catching him by the 
arms, “you—you don’t understand.” 

“I certainly don’t,” said Joe in a dull voice. 

“That’s it. You don’t understand,” repeated 


178 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


Marie intensely. “And, Joe, you’re not going 
to tell Mother.” 

“Of course I’m going to tell her.” 

“But, Joe—all right, tell her if you will. Only 
do me one favor. Won’t you, Joe, dear Joe?” 
There was agony in the girl’s face and voice. 
Poor boy! he was only twelve. That Marie was 
earnest was beyond doubt. He softened. 

“What is it, Marie?” 

“Don’t say anything to Mother until after 
supper; but before you tell her, I will explain 
everything to you. Then you will understand. 
Then you will be fair. And I know, Joe, that 
you don’t want to be unfair.” 

“All right, Marie; of course I want to be fair. 
And when are you coming home?” 

“In a few minutes, Joe. Oh, thank you so 
much.” 

There were tears in the girl’s beautiful eyes. 
Yes, thought the poor boy, I am sure Marie can 
account for everything. The wish was father 
to the thought. 

“Say,” said Louis, when they had gained the 
street, “did you get on to Myrtle and that goosey- 
goosey-gander? What a perfect pair. They 
are born for each other. If they were to settle 
down and marry, I’m sure they’d build a home 
which every one would call the house of foolish¬ 
ness.” 

“I didn’t give much time to bothering about 
them, Louie. I’m still thinking of that—that 
skunk sitting beside my sister. Say, I feel rot¬ 
ten. I never felt like this before.” 

“Look here, Joe, you do look shaken up. Sup¬ 
pose we run over and say a word to the Colonel.” 


INTRODUCING A FLAPPER 179 


“I’d like to,” said Joe. “But how are we going 
about it?” 

“Dead easy. We can thank him for that catch¬ 
er’s glove and the bats.” 

“That’s right,” said Joe. “And who knows 
but he may bring us good luck? I feel like I 
was in a house, and the house was going to fall 
on me, and I couldn’t get out. Say, Louie, do 
you mind if I drop in for a moment at Eighth 
and Walnut at St. Ludwig’s church? I’m scared. 
I want to pray.” 

“I’ll be glad to pray with you. I know how 
it is myself. The night my father was going to 
whip me with a bed slat, you bet I prayed. And 
my prayer was answered, too. He broke the 
slat on me the first whack, and that was the end 
of it.” 

“Did it hurt?” asked Joe. 

“Hurt! Holy smoke! Didn’t I tell you he 
broke it on me? I howled as if I were murdered. 
You bet I felt like howling. It would have been 
a good, honest howl any way you look at it; but 
I put something to it. Yes, I put all I could to 
it: I couldn’t have howled more if I were to 
die on the spot; and that scared Dad. He was 
so scared that he stopped.” 

“It’s always a good plan,” said Joe wisely, 
“to howl when teachers or people like that whack 
you. It shows that you respect them, and, if 
they are kind, it saves you a lot of whacks.” 

The boys entered St. Ludwig’s and, blessing 
themselves and genuflecting with unusual devo¬ 
tion, knelt down together and folded their hands 
in prayer. The young Italian took out his beads. 
Joe gazed upon the tabernaele, and addressed 


180 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


himself to his Lord and Saviour, whom, each 
morning, he received in Holy Communion. Mak¬ 
ing use of no vocal prayer, he spoke to Our Lord 
as was his wont in making his thanksgiving. 
He told Him of his vague fear. He spoke up for 
his mother. She had suffered so much. An¬ 
other heavy cross might break her strength for¬ 
ever. Could Marie be the means of sending such 
a cross? Perhaps. In a vague way, he felt that 
it might be so, that it probably would be so. 
Then he addressed himself to the Mother of 
Christ, begging her to intercede with her Son. 
Last of all, he turned to the Little Flower. He 
had long loved that child saint—the little 
Therese, whose beatification was hardly a year 
off. Just then his heart was unusually touched: 
the little talk given by Julia the night before 
had strongly influenced his imagination. 
Why, the Little Flower would be sure to help. 
God would not refuse her. Had He not called 
her early from this life that she might spend 
her heaven in working for and helping others? 
Was she not even now letting fall, here and 
there and everywhere, roses of God’s love? A 
shower of roses! He pictured them falling. A 
shower of roses! The thought of those roses 
clutched and held his pure and unspoiled imagi¬ 
nation. The minutes sped on. Louis, having 
finished with his beads, said the Litany of Lor- 
etto; Joe remained kneeling, motionless. 

A shower of roses! Then out of the depths of 
contemplation into which he had penetrated, 
there suddenly came a wonderful burst of fra¬ 
grance, fragrance such as one would expect to 
inhale in a garden tended by Christ Himself. 


INTRODUCING A FLAPPER 181 


Joe, like the disciples at Emmaus, felt his 
heart burning within him. And out of the very 
heart of that fragrance came a voice, sweet, 
tender, soft and winning. “Watch, Joe, watch.” 
The voice grew still, the fragrance ceased. Joe 
opened his eyes, started, crossed himself, and 
turned toward Louis, who was gazing at him 
with the roundest of eyes. 

“What was the matter with you, Joe?” asked 
Louis on the steps of the church. “Do you know 
that you knelt without moving for about half 
an hour?” 

“Did I? Maybe I was asleep.” 

“Maybe you were. After I finished my beads 
and the litany and all the prayers I could think 
of, I looked to see what was the matter with 
you and there you were, kneeling as straight 
as an arrow and not leaning on the bench, and 
your eyes were closed fast, and your lips were 
not moving.” 

“So,” said Joe earnestly, “I was asleep, was 
I?” 

“I guess you were; but what I want to know 
is, does your face shine like that when you are 
asleep?” 

“Eh? Oh, maybe.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


MARIE DOWLING IN THE GREAT CRISIS OF HER LIFE 

“|^olonel,” said Joe, after he and Louis had 
expressed their thanks to him for the 
catcher’s glove and the two bats, “my 
pal, Louie, has something to ask. We can’t an¬ 
swer it, either of us. It’s got to do with moth¬ 
ers ; and we know you are away up on that.” 

The Colonel, a confirmed and hopeless bache¬ 
lor, listened to this without batting an eye. 

“Tell me all about it, Louie.” 

The Italian youth retailed substantially the 
conversation he and Joe had held concerning the 
difficulty which a mother encounters in bringing 
up her children—seven children—and at the 
same time doing the cooking, washing, ironing 
and general housework all by herself. 

“My mother has tried it,” he concluded, “and 
it can’t be done.” 

The Colonel twisted his cigar without remov¬ 
ing it from his mouth and reflected. 

“Yes; it can,” he said impressively. 

“Tell us how,” asked Joe. 

“First of all, boys: it’s easier in a way to bring 
up a large number of children—seven or eight 
or nine—than it is to bring up one, or two or 
three.” 

“That’s funny,” said Louis. 

“But it’s true. A lot of brothers and sisters, 

182 


MARIE IN GREAT CRISIS 


183 


without knowing it, educate one another. The 
smaller learn from the older. It takes brothers 
and sisters to tell one another the plain, unvarn¬ 
ished truth.” 

“Don’t I know it?” chuckled Joe. 

“They rub off one another’s edges,” continued 
the Colonel. “And best of all, they are not 
spoiled, as is often the case with a single child, 
by being made too much of. The mother of a 
big bunch hasn’t time to spoil them all. Her 
love has to be spread round. The best kinder¬ 
garten in the world is a good home with plenty 
of children.” 

“But look, Colonel,” interrupted Louis, “we 
have plenty of children, but we’re running wild. 
Mother can’t help it. I know she can’t. And 
I am just as bad as the youngest.” 

The Colonel flicked the ashes from his cigar, 
cast his eyes into the air, took three slow puffs, 
and suddenly pointing a finger at the boy, cried: 

“Organize!” 

“What’s that, sir?” 

“You’re the oldest, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And have you ever thought of trying to help 
your mother out?” 

“Well—er—yes—sir; not till lately, sir. I’ve 
been thinking about it, though, since you put 
Joe wise to giving his mother a present.” 

“And didn’t it work out fine, Joe?” asked the 
Colonel with much enthusiasm. 

“I should say so, sir. It was great.” 

“Now, Louie, to organize is to get a bunch of 
people to work together. Your mother is head 
in the home. That leaves your father to attend 


184 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


to business. You should come next. Find out 
what she wants. You can get the next one—a 
sister?—good—to do her little share. The two 
of you can help manage the little ones. Perhaps 
the next child in age can be put to taking care 
of certain things. Of course, it can be done. In 
fact, it can go down to those who are seven or 
eight. And here’s the big idea!” 

The Colonel paused and fixed his hearers’ at¬ 
tention. 

“Get it into the heads of them all that it’s a 
great thing to help mother. If they love their 
mother—and they surely do—it’s bound to bring 
results. What are you fidgeting about, Joe? 
You look worried.” 

“I am, sir, in a way. Louis and I would like 
very much to stay longer with you, wouldn’t 
we, Louis?” 

“You bet,” said Louis with fervor. 

“What are you worrying about, Joe?” 

“I’d like very much to tell you, sir; but I don’t 
think I have any right. I promised not to tell 
my mother, and if I can’t tell her, I don’t see 
how I can tell any one else.” 

“Not tell your mother? Joe, that doesn’t 
sound good to me. A boy of your age should 
have no secrets from his mother.” 

“It’s this way, sir: I promised not to tell her 
until after supper.” 

“Oh, I see,” said the Colonel. “In that case, 
I suppose it is all right.” 

Had the Colonel known the nature of Joe’s 
secret, and the circumstances surrounding it, 
his answer would have been quite different. 

It was nearly four o’clock when Joe greeted 


MARIE IN GREAT CRISIS 


185 


his mother, now sitting up, but as yet unable 
to attend to household duties. Julia, the neat- 
handed, was proving to be an admirable and 
cheerful substitute. 

“Can I help in any way?” asked the boy. 

“Joe,” said Julia, “you are becoming more 
thoughtful every day, and in every way. Do 
you mind running over to the grocery?” 

“Not at all,” he answered, thinking of the 
kindly Colonel, and wondering, wondering about 
the visit he had made to the church. Was Louis 
right? Had he been asleep? Anyhow, what 
could it mean? What was he to watch? 

“Where are Frank and Eileen?” 

“They are over with the McKane children,” 
said Julia. 

“And Peggy? Oh, by George, I clear forgot. 
Louie and I were at the Savoy talking to the 
Colonel, who is a very wise man. And I never 
thought to thank him for getting that position 
for Peggy.” 

“She’s gone down to thank him herself,” said 
Julia. 

“And where—where is Marie?” Joe had been 
leading up to this question. His tone, as he 
put it, was, despite himself, strained and un¬ 
natural. 

“She came in a few minutes ago, Joe.” 

“How’d she look?” 

“All flustered up. She said she had a head¬ 
ache from working. I’m not surprised; she’s 
not used to it. And she’s gone into the back 
room to lie down.” 

“All right, Julia,” said Joe, sensibly relieved. 
“Just a minute and I’ll go to the grocery.” Say- 


186 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


ing which, Joe walked boldly through the middle 
room to the rear. The boy as he advanced 
thought that he heard a sound as of some one 
making a quick change of position. When he 
entered, he saw Marie lying face downward on 
the couch. 

“How are you feeling, Marie ?” 

The girl raised a flushed and agitated face. 

“Awfully bad. I can’t talk; but I’ll see you 
after supper, Joe, and make you understand.” 

“All right,” said the honest lad. “Sorry, but 
I’ve got to tell then.” 

And Joe went to the grocery, after which he 
practised for some time with Louis, gave a few 
lessons in the art of delivering the ball to a 
promising youth of ten, and finally returned 
to the bosom of his family. 

“How’s Marie?” he asked. 

“I think,” said Julia, “that she is better. Just 
a moment ago, she came in and said that her 
headache was nearly gone. And then, Joe,” 
continued Julia, widening her eyes, “she came 
up and kissed me. What do you know about 
that?” 

“She did!” 

“Right on the mouth, too. And then she goes 
over and hugs Mother. Didn’t she, Mother?” 

“Yes, Julia. And—and—she put so much 
love into it.” 

“Oh,” said Joe, the old feeling of uneasiness 
returning with new force. 

“And then,” said the child housekeeper, “she 
busted into tears and went back.” 

“I’ll see how she’s getting on,” said Joe. 

“No; you leave her to herself,” ordered Julia. 


MARIE IN GREAT CRISIS 


187 


“She said she’d like to be alone till supper-time. 
It’s only fifteen minutes away. You can wait, 
can’t you?” 

“Well, I can’t,” answered Joe, turning pale, 
and hurrying into the back room. 

It was empty* Marie was gone. 

Joes heart became as lead. For a moment, 
he was powerless to think or act. The worst 
had befallen. Luckily coming to himself, he 
gazed about the room. There were evidences of 
disorder. Marie had ransacked her belongings, 
probably, as he rightly judged, to array herself 
in all her splendor. She must have climbed 
down through the back window. Joe made his 
way to the window, and with a speed under the 
circumstances truly remarkable, clambered down 
to the ground. The point with him was to find 
out at once, if possible, whither she had gone. 
The place below was deserted. It was the sup¬ 
per hour—the hour which draws children un¬ 
bidden into their homes. 

“Oh, oh,” he almost blubbered, “why did I 
not watch? Now I know something terrible is 
going to happen, unless-” 

Joe prayed, prayed for light; at the end, he 
invoked the intercession of the Little Flower. 

At the end he crossed himself, and acting auto¬ 
matically ran toward Kilgour Street, and then 
down toward Fifth. 

“Oh!” he cried, “here comes Lord Bountiful!” 

It w r as the time, by the way, that Lord Boun¬ 
tiful was wont to come up the hill for his nightly 
visit to the Dowlings. 

“Halloa, Joe,” cried the big man with his big 


188 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


smile. Even as he spoke, the smile left him. 
“Why, my boy, what has happened?’’ 

Joe blubbered, made a mighty struggle to put 
down his overwrought feelings, and answered: 

“Oh, Lord Bountiful, Marie has disappeared 
from home and I know almost for certain that 
she has gone somewhere or other with a man I 
saw her with at a moving picture show this af¬ 
ternoon.” 

“Do you know the man, Joe?” 

“I just saw him once.” 

“Can you describe him?” 

Joe could and did. As he went on, enumer¬ 
ating the points which differentiated the sup¬ 
posed abductor from other men, there came upon 
Lord Bountiful’s face an air of the deepest 
concern. 

“Here, Joe, let us get into this drug store 
where people will not notice us. How long since 
she went?” 

“Just a few minutes ago.” 

“Your mother and the others know nothing?” 

“Not unless they’ve missed her since I slipped 
down the back way.” 

Lord Bountiful’s face and manner were those 
of a man of action, as he said, “Now run, Joe, 
run. Get to your mother’s house as quick as 
your legs can carry you. Tell your mother that 
you are with me, that you may be gone for some 
time; but not to worry, as I expect to have you 
and Marie out for a ride and to bring you home 
together. Do you get the idea?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Say it for me. Repeat it.” 

Joe, abnormally alert, delivered the message. 


MARIE IN GREAT CRISIS 


189 


“Good! When you’ve delivered it, hurry off. 
Tell them I haven’t time to lose. Off you go.” 
And as Joe hurried from the drug store, whose 
sole occupant at the moment was a young clerk 
dozing over an evening paper, Lord Bountiful 
shut himself in the telephone booth. 

“Give me Canal 2199. That’s the number— 
Is this Zumstein’s? Good. This is Paul Francis 
speaking. I want to talk to Frank. Thank 
you.” 

There was a pause. 

“Hallo! That you Frank? I’m Paul Francis, 
the Colonel’s friend.” 

“Oh, yes; anything I can do for you?” 

“Yes; it’s most important. Find out, if you 
can, whether a slim dark-haired young fellow, 
dressed up for eighteen though he’s almost twice 
that age, has hired a taxi from your place in the 
last half hour. His clothes are ultra-fashion¬ 
able. He looks like what they call a lounge- 
lizard. He has a moustache curled at the ends, 
Prussian style, and, Frank, for God’s sake, 
hustle. It’s most important. All right, I’ll 
hold the phone.” 

Bountiful fidgeted, groaned and beat a tattoo 
with his feet. A minute passed. 

“Hallo!” came the voice. “I’m awful sorry. 
In the last hour most of our taxis were ordered 
by phone. Only two parties called personally 
and neither agrees in any way with the descrip¬ 
tion of the man you are looking for. If I hear 
anything further—wait a minute.” 

Lord Bountiful waited. 

“Halloa! that you, Paul Francis?” 

“Yes; I’m listening.” 


190 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“Just now while I was talking to you one of 
our chauffeurs came in. He reports that a while 
ago, he saw one of our taxis at the corner of 
Third and Lock. He was passing by with his 
fare, and as he passed, he saw the sort of a fel¬ 
low you described who was helping a girl into 
the cab.” 

“Thank you so much, Frank; will tell you 
more later.” 

Lord Bountiful presently took up the phone 
again, and calling the Savoy asked for the 
Colonel. 

“That you, Colonel? Say I’m in an awful 
state of mind. Little Marie Dowling, the girl 
that called to see you once, and whom you 
thought so much of, has been mesmerized by 
some infernal skunk, and has gone off in a taxi 
with him. Now, Colonel, you know the ways 
and customs of this town, and you know the 
sort of fellow who does things like that.” 

“I certainly do,” answered the Colonel. “This 
is awful. They will go across the river, either 
to Newport or Covington: that’s a cinch. We’ve 
got to head this thing off at once, Paul.” 

“Please God, yes.” 

“Now, listen; you’ve got some men, local men, 
you can call on.” 

“Five,” answered Lord Bountiful. 

“Very well, Paul. Let them take Newport 
and surroundings; they’ll know where to go. 
And I’ll take Covington myself. Say, if I meet 
up with that fellow-” 

“If you do,” interrupted Lord Bountiful, “just 
keep your eye on him and don’t take action un¬ 
less something occurs that makes it necessary. 


MARIE IN GREAT CRISIS 


191 


Send me word at once, and Fll be over like a 
flash. You see, Colonel, we want no publicity.” 

“That’s the idea,” responded the Colonel. 
“Poor Marie! I can’t believe it.” 

“I’m at Watterman’s drug store, corner Lock 
and Fifth; and I’ll stay here till I get news from 
you or some of my men.” Giving the phone num¬ 
ber, Lord Bountiful rang off, and using the tele¬ 
phone book speedily got in communication with 
the five men upon whom he could rely. 

Meantime, the Colonel, so excited that he let 
his cigar go out, called up Zumstein’s. 

“Frank, I want a cab with a chauffeur who 
can make the cab go. Send him to the Savoy 
at once. Tell him that swiftness on his part 
means a five-dollar gold piece for him —at least . 
For God’s sake, hurry!” 

“All right, Colonel. At once. Say, what in 
the world-” 

But the Colonel shut him off, hurried outside 
the hotel, and paced up and down beside the 
lobby, his debonair manner gone, and impa¬ 
tience in his every movement. But he had not 
long to wait; a yellow cab came whirling up, and 
before it had come to a stop, Colonel Bridwell, 
with the agility of a man of thirty, pushed into 
the cab, bawled the name of a resort across the 
river, which the chauffeur, a sharp-faced young 
fellow, no sooner heard than, without coming to 
a full stop, he put on a speed many miles beyond 
the limits allowed by the laws of the city. 

The traffic officer at Sixth and Vine was 
minded to stop the taxicab, but the Colonel, lean¬ 
ing out and catching his eye, caused him to smile 
and wave the chauffeur on. The same panto- 



192 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


mime was repeated at Fifth. On Fourth, there 
was danger of a long delay. The traffic officer 
had just given the sign for vehicles to move from 
east and west. This was too much for the phil¬ 
anthropist. Jumping from the cab, he secured 
the officer’s ear, and on his return, the sign was 
given for traffic north and south. They were 
off at once. The congested district was passed, 
and for the next five minutes—down to the river, 
across the bridge spanning the Ohio, through 
Covington—the Colonel was speeding at a rate 
beyond anything in the experience of his long 
life. 

While the chauffeur, having reached Coving¬ 
ton and picked a by-street where traffic officers 
were not on duty, was speeding on at a rate be¬ 
yond anything allowed by any laws anywhere, 
Joe Dowling returned to the drug store just 
as Lord Bountiful came out of the telephone 
booth. 

“It’s all right, sir,” said Joe. “Mother says 
that so long as we are with you—you see, she’s 
got an idea that Marie is with us—it doesn’t 
matter how long we stay out.” 

“I’m glad,” said Lord Bountiful, wiping the 
perspiration from his brow, “that she’s got that 
idea. If she were to get a shock in her present 
weakened condition, it might be a set-back too 
much even for Doctor Fee to handle. Joe, I’ve 
got things going. Your poor sister went into 
a taxi at Third and Lock, just about the time, I 
fancy, that you missed her. We’ve got six people 
on the hunt now—and one of them is the 
Colonel.” 

“Oh,” exclaimed Joe, smiling for the first time 


MARIE IN GREAT CRISIS 193 

since the discovery of Marie’s flight, “I’m so 
glad you’ve got him.” 

“So am I, Joe: the other five are picked men 
of this city; but the Colonel is worth them all. 
Now, Joe, I’m waiting for news of her here; and 
I may want you at any moment. You’re going 
to be my assistant. Possibly I may not need 
your help; but there’s no knowing.” 

As Lord Bountiful was speaking, a taxicab 
stopped in front of the pharmacy. 

“Mr. Paul Francis here?” asked the chauffeur, 
bustling in. 

“Here I am, friend. Now all you need do is 
to wait, ready, when I come out and give the 
word, to start off at top speed—all the speed that 
the law allows, and all the speed over that that 
you can put over. It may be any moment al¬ 
most, and again it may be an hour or so. In any 
case, be ready to start at once.” 

“All right, sir.” 

“Now, Joe, while we’re waiting I want you 
to tell me all you know. You’ve no idea how 
distressed I am. Don’t judge your sister 
harshly. She is very weak in one or two re¬ 
spects, but could she conquer herself, she’d be 
a wonder. Tell me all, Joe.” 

The boy went over the occurrences of the last 
few days, telling the big man the circumstances 
leading up to Marie’s flight already set down in 
this story. Half an hour passed. Lord Bounti¬ 
ful was by clever questioning endeavoring to 
obtain further details, when a ring from the 
booth brought him to his feet. With one bound, 
he caught up the receiver. 

“Halloa!” he cried. 


194 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“That you, Paul? Say—can you beat it?— 
I got the party on my third guess.” 

“Thank God!” said Lord Bountiful. 

“They are seated at a table in the Idlenook.” 

“The what?” 

“The Idlenook. Any chauffeur knows it. 
They are about finishing their supper. Neither 
of them has seen me. IT1 keep my eye on them 
till-” 

The Colonel over in Kentucky was at first in¬ 
dignant at the discourtesy of his friend, who 
rang off unceremoniously, and catching Joe by 
the hand, hastened into the cab, shouting, as he 
entered, the name of the inn to the chauffeur. 

It was a wild ride. Lord Bountiful, head 
erect, brows bent, neither moved nor spoke until 
the taxicab came to a stop at the country inn. 
An open garden stretched back of the building, 
and in this garden, dimly lighted by Chinese 
lanterns, were grouped dining tables of various 
sizes, many of them filled with guests. On a 
platform in the midst of these tables was a 
piano. A band of five musicians,'as Lord Boun¬ 
tiful followed by Joe jumped from the taxi, 
played the last strains of the Blue Danube 
waltzes, and stopped. 

The Colonel was awaiting them. 

“Come quick,” he said. “I’m getting nervous. 
That skunk is trying to persuade Marie to drink 
some ginger ale, reinforced by something from 
a hip pocket flask-” 

“Quick!” said Lord Bountiful. “Get those 
musicians to start their music at once, Joe. Tell 
the director-” 

“Here, Joe,” interrupted the Colonel, “give 



MARIE IN GREAT CRISIS 


195 


him my card. He knows me. Tell him I want 
it. Now, Paul, come follow me. Marie and 
that bird are very luckily at an extreme corner. 
That bird with her,” he went on, “doesn’t look 
good to me. If he’s the sort of a mucker I think 
him, as like as not that pocket flask of his has 
some sort of dope.” 

“I’m almost sure of it,” said the other. 

“Here, this way; there’s a group of trees on 
his side. If we move on carefully, Paul, we can 
get within a few feet of them without being 
seen.” 

“Colonel, you’re a jewel.” 

“Intelligent people recognize that fact as soon 
as they see me. Here we are.” 

“Oh, I see,” whispered Lord Bountiful, as, 
turning his eyes in the direction indicated by 
Colonel Bridwell’s gesture, he saw the ill-as¬ 
sorted couple. 

They were seated at a small table, the man 
facing Lord Bountiful and the Colonel, Marie 
with her back to them. The plates and the dishes 
had been cleared away, leaving nothing on the 
table but two bottles of ginger ale and two 
glasses. There were no guests near them. 

“Marie,” said the man, turning upon her 
languishing eyes, “I don’t think you care for 
me at all.” 

“Oh, I do, I do! You know it.” 

“But you don’t trust me.” 

“I do, Ferdie; I would not be here if T didn’t.” 

“People who know me,” continued Ferdie, 
“all say that I am a perfect gentleman in every 

V 


way- 



196 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“Say, can you beat it?” growled Colonel Brid- 
well to Lord Bountiful. 

“She couldn’t have fallen into worse hands,” 
whispered Lord Bountiful. 

“Oh, I do think you are a perfect gentle¬ 
man,” simpered Marie, “no one could be more 
delicate in his attentions.” 

“Holy Moses!” groaned the Colonel. 

“What’s the matter with that band?” growled 
his companion. 

“Then, if you trust me as you say you do,” 
continued the perfect gentleman, “you’ll drink 
my health.” As he spoke, Ferdie drew out a 
flask, poured a small quantity of the contents 
into one of the glasses, filling it with ginger ale. 

“But what is it?” asked Marie, looking doubt¬ 
fully at the beverage held before her eyes. 

“It’s a ginger-ale highball. Drink it, and you 
will feel brave and cheerful.” 

“But, Ferdie, I never drank liquor in my life.” 

At this moment, the band, two of whose play¬ 
ers who had strayed away having been brought 
back, struck up one of those musical offerings 
of the jazz variety, where melody was completely 
subordinated to noise. 

“Hurrah,” said Lord Bountiful. “Just wait 
a moment, Colonel.” 

“If that bird is a perfect gentleman,” solilo¬ 
quized Colonel Bridwell, “then may I become a 
bigger rowdy every day I live.” 

“Don’t be foolish, Marie,” continued the ob¬ 
ject of these remarks, holding toward her the 
glass with one hand, with the other catching 
her arm. “If there were any harm in it, do 
you think I would ask you? If you refuse, I’ll 


MARIE IN GREAT CRISIS 


197 


take it as a sign that you are one of those in¬ 
constant hut lovely women and that you do 
not love me at all.” 

This speech, the tender smile that accompa¬ 
nied it, and the affectionate handclasp worked 
madness upon the too impressionable girl. She 
took the glass from his hands. Ferdie hastily 
filled the other glass from the same bottle. 

“Now,” said Ferdie, triumph in his eyes and 
raising his glass, “dearest Marie, here’s to the 
greatest love—our love—in the whole wide, wide 
world. Do you pledge it?” 

“I do,” answered Marie, raising her glass. 

Stepping out from behind the trees, Lord 
Bountiful, erect, threatening, faced Ferdie, as 
the two diners clinked their glasses. The face 
of Lord Bountiful was a study. Lines stood 
out on his forehead, his lips were tightly drawn, 
over his features played a high anger, a lofty 
scorn, a strict justice. And this was the face 
that confronted Ferdie as, raising his glass to 
his lips, he was about to drink. At the sight, 
abject terror came upon him, he grew ashen pale, 
the glass in his hands fell to the ground, his 
eyes, horror-stricken, protruded from his head, 
and he sank back limp and inert into his chair. 
Marie, quick to see his terror, laid her glass upon 
the table and turned in alarm. A slight scream 
of terror escaped her pallid lips. Could this be 
Lord Bountiful, this tall, unbending man, his 
right arm outstretched, the index finger pointed 
at her companion, his face like that of some 
relentless, merciless, all-powerful judge, his eyes 
blazing with a just and awe-inspiring anger? 

Moving forward slowly, his terror-inspiring 


198 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


face turned straight upon the limp and chatter¬ 
ing lover, Lord Bountiful picked up Marie’s 
glass. 

“Drink it,” he commanded, addressing the 
abject coward. 

“Every drop!” commanded Lord Bountiful. 
He raised his hand once more. 

The poltroon, the sweat of agony on his face, 
took the glass in a trembling hand. He might 
have dropped it, but Lord Bountiful supple¬ 
mented the feeble clasp with his own. With his 
eyes still fixed in terror upon the big man, 
Marie’s lover drained the glass to the last drop, 
while, as he did so, Marie, who in these few 
seconds had gone through the gamut of emo¬ 
tions, sank back into her chair, threw her head 
upon the table, and burst into a passion of 
weeping. 

“Talk to her, Bob—kindly. Now, sir, come 
on.” 

Ferdie had no choice but to obey; for Lord 
Bountiful, catching him by the neck, brought 
him to his feet, and holding him with an iron 
clasp, conveyed him into the shelter of the trees. 
All these events had happened in a few mo¬ 
ments. The blare of the brass, the pounding of 
the drum, the weird screams and wailings of 
the saxophone, had drowned out the few words 
spoken. No one of the guests appeared to take 
any note of these extraordinary proceedings. 
However, there were two exceptions. Joe Dowl¬ 
ing, having successfully fulfilled his mission 
* with the band leader, had quickly followed his 
companions, and, sheltered beyond the trees, 
had gazed in amazement and wonder at that 


MARIE IN GREAT CRISIS 


199 


heroic figure, Lord Bountiful in action. Beside 
him—though Joe, so intent was he upon his 
hero that he scarcely noted his presence—stood 
a tall, strongly-built man, clean shaven, and as 
intent as Joe himself upon the doings of Lord 
Bountiful. 

“My heavens,” he ejaculated as Lord Bounti¬ 
ful caught the amorous poltroon by the shoul¬ 
ders, “how that man does things! Did you ever 
see anything like it?” 

“Who is he?” gasped Joe, carried away by 
awe and admiration. 

“He’s the best loved man and the most feared 
man in-” 

The words he would have spoken died on his 
lips; for, having got his man safe from the ob¬ 
servation of curious eyes, Lord Bountiful, hold¬ 
ing him at arm’s length, shook him with the 
strength and violence of a superman, shook him 
with a vigor born of an anger the like of which 
Joe Dowling had never seen. It was an exhibi¬ 
tion of strength and ferocity. Could that, Joe 
asked himself, be the Lord Bountiful, the mild¬ 
est, the gentlest, the kindest of men? It was 
incredible. 

The Colonel, meanwhile, seating himself be¬ 
side the weeping girl, gazed on her for a few 
seconds wtih a great compassion. He wiped his 
eyes presently, then laying a fatherly hand on 
her hair, and stroking it gently, he said: 

“Marie, you have been saved from an awful 
situation.” 

Marie gave no sign. 

“There are men in this world,” he went on, 
“who dress nicely and talk nicely, and smile and 



200 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


act like men: but they are ghouls. When good 
women, decent women like your mother and 
Peggy, see such men, they turn their heads 
away, or they get to the other side of the street. 
You have met such a man—the worst thing in 
God’s creation; and Lord Bountiful has saved 
you from a ruined life.” 

Marie raised her head. Her lips, pallid lips, 
were trembling, her eyes blurred with tears. 
The Colonel, in the most casual way, took out 
his handkerchief and passed it over her face. 

“Now, Marie,” he proceeded. “Try to con¬ 
trol yourself. Oh, hang it! the band has stopped 
playing. Come, let us get into the shelter of 
those trees.” 

Marie arose obediently and put her hand in the 
Colonel’s after the manner of a little child. 
Her gesture was so helpless, so pitiful. She 
gazed into the elder’s face so wistfully, so pa¬ 
thetically, that the Colonel on the one hand was 
touched beyond words; on the other was filled 
with a great wrath; that beasts, in the form of 
men, should live and use their infamous wiles 
to the lifelong destruction of tender and un¬ 
protected innocence. Then he thought of the 
slimy creature from whose blasting hold Marie 
had been rescued, and he said a word or two 
concerning him which his guardian angel, I 
trust, will freely translate before he puts on 
the eternal record. 

The cessation of the music caused Marie to 
arrive on the scene before Lord Bountiful was 
prepared. He was still shaking, as a terrier a 
rat, the limp body of Ferdie when his eye caught 
Marie’s. On the instant, he dropped his burden; 


MARIE IN GREAT CRISIS 


201 


and Ferdie, falling to the ground, raised him¬ 
self on one knee, turned horror-stricken eyes 
upon his captor, raised abject hands of supplica¬ 
tion toward him, and then collapsed. 

“Look!” said Colonel Bridwell grimly, “look 
—take a last look at the fellow you adored just 
now.” 

“Here, Bates,” ordered Lord Bountiful curtly, 
“take this fellow away. You know what to do 
with him?” 

“Sure,” grinned Bates admiringly. 

“He’ll sleep, no doubt, for several hours— 
dosed by his own dope. And mind, no pub¬ 
licity.” 

“No, sir; but, good Lord, how you handled 
him.” Here Bates picked up the perfect gentle¬ 
man, holding him lightly under one arm; also, 
he stooped once more and arose with a pistol. 

“If I had faced him as you did,” he remarked, 
“this fellow would have filled me with punc¬ 
tures. Why, sir, don’t you know he’s a gun¬ 
man?” 

“Of course. In fact, he did shoot at me once.” 

Giving Lord Bountiful one more look, com¬ 
pounded of sheer wonder and whole-souled ad¬ 
miration, Bates, carrying Ferdie as unconcern¬ 
edly over his arm as though he were an overcoat, 
made a quick departure. Joe Dowling, while 
this bit of dialogue was going on, walked up to 
his sister, gazed into the face softened by 
humiliation, by sorrow and by a great awaken¬ 
ing, and throwing his arms about her, cried: 
“Marie, you’re all right. You—you—just made 
a mistake. That’s all.” 

This outburst of love, so foreign on Joe’s part 


202 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


as to outward manifestation, touched Marie’s 
heart. How exquisitely beautiful she looked as 
she turned her soft eyes in lively gratitude on 
her honest little brother. 

“Marie,” added Lord Bountiful, the blithe, the 
smiling, the debonair once more, “if you saw 
me just now shaking that fellow the way I did, 
don’t think I was a savage. I did it because 
I loved you so much.” 

“We all love you,” added the Colonel. 

There came at that instant a flash, an illu¬ 
minating flash, into the soul of the girl. There 
was a love, she saw in that revealing flash, that 
was vile and born of evil; and there was a love 
that came of God, and raised one from earth to 
heaven. The first kind had left her, carried 
off, like an overcoat, on the arm of an unknown 
man; the second now surrounded her, wrapping 
her about like a sort of glory. 

“Oh,” she said lowering her eyes, “what a 
fool I have been.” 

And softly she wept the tears that bring joy 
to the courts of heaven. 


CHAPTER XVII 

THE END OF AN EVENTFUL DAY 

M arie, Joe and Colonel Bridwell were seated 
in the cab quietly awaiting Lord Bounti¬ 
ful, who had excused himself for a mo¬ 
ment. 

“Look at him,” Joe suddenly exclaimed, add¬ 
ing in the tone of one who was making an 
astonishing revelation, “why, Lord Bountiful is 
two men.” 

Joe, as he spoke, was thinking of the great, 
big stern fellow with blazing eyes and open 
fist standing over a poltroon, paralyzed with 
fear; and at the same time was looking at the 
same man now coming jauntily out of the inn, 
his hand held by a boy of twelve, in one arm a 
girl of seven—both of them, victims of love at 
first sight, gazing at him with the liveliest af¬ 
fection. 

“Don’t go,” they pleaded. 

“Too bad!” he answered beaming on them. 
“When I come this way I want to see you again,” 
and while the boy shook his hand, the child, 
seated on his mighty arm, planted a kiss on his 
lips. 

“To Baum Street, driver. Not too fast this 
time. Obey the laws.” He paused to wave his 
hand to the two children before the inn. “If 
ever I get to heaven,” he went on with the little 
203 


204 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


note of melancholy in his voice which is the 
“sweet sorrow” of parting, “I humbly trust that 
God will let me into what the poet Francis 
Thompson calls the nurseries of heaven with 
bright little boys and girls like you, Marie—but 
not a day older.” 

Marie flushed prettily. 

“I want to thank you, Lord Bountiful.” 

“You ought to,” put in the Colonel. “You will 
never know, being the good girl that you are, 
what a horrible danger you were in when he 
came to your help.” 

“By the way, Marie,” said Lord Bountiful, 
unwrapping a package, revealing two club sand¬ 
wiches which he had purchased, and handing 
one to Joe, who seized it with artless alacrity, 
“Fm afraid I shocked you by the way I handled 
that scoundrel.” 

Marie was silent; she knew not how to answer. 

“Well, let me tell you this. I know him. I 
know all about him. And he is one of the vilest 
scoundrels that ever walked the streets of New 
York. He is a murderer, a thief—but what’s 
the use? I hate to think of him.” 

“Marie,” said the Colonel, who had been 
closely watching the girl’s face, “you were 
shocked, and you feel that in some way you were 
ungrateful to Paul Francis in being shocked. 
But I want to tell you something. There’s not 
a girl of your age in Cincinnati who would not 
have been shocked, and more, there’s not one 
good woman in a hundred who would not have 
been shocked. But as to the men—and it is only 
men who know fellows like that—there’s not 
one in a hundred who would not say that Paul 


END OF AN EVENTFUL DAY 205 

Francis had done exactly the right thing. This 
world,” he continued, “looks mighty good to me; 
but just the same there are in it a few slimy 
creatures so vile that it’s hard to understand 
how God allows them to exist.” 

“I say, Lord Bountiful,” cried Joe, who some¬ 
how or other had contrived to eat the entire 
sandwich while the Colonel was speaking, “you 
say you knew that man?” 

“Yes, Joe,” answered Lord Bountiful, taking 
a second bite of his own. 

“Well, didn’t you think he might have shot 
you?” 

“He did shoot at me once,” admitted Lord 
Bountiful. “It was the day before I married. I 
just happened upon him in some sort of an 
affair like this—only worse. I was not on time. 
I called him to account, and he whipped out 
his gun. Fortunately, I was close to him, so 
I caught his wrist and the gun dropped. I gave 
him an awful thrashing. He spent three weeks 
in the hospital; and since that, when he sees me, 
he makes room for me at once.” 

“Nice fellow!” said the Colonel sarcastically. 
“No doubt he is a college man.” 

“No, sir; it would be unfair to say that he was 
a product of the public schools, which he at¬ 
tended up to and including the seventh grade. 
He is the product of a bad home, a bad environ¬ 
ment, and a godless father and mother.—But to 
return to our own affairs. Marie, what about 
telling your mother about this?” 

“It will be hard, Lord Bountiful, awfully 
hard. But HI do whatever you say.” 


206 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“Most certainly your mother should know,” 
said the Colonel. 

Lord Bountiful reflected for a moment. 

“Here’s what I think, Marie. Your mother 
hasn’t the least suspicion of anything untoward. 
She has the idea that you and I and Joe are 
out for a ride.” 

“So we are,” chuckled Joe. 

“And having a good time.” 

“That’s true, too,” said Joe, “even if I do feel 
a little hungry.” 

“Stop at the next restaurant,” shouted Lord 
Bountiful to the chauffeur. “Now I have certain 
reasons which I do not care to give just at pres¬ 
ent which I think will justify me in telling you 
to say nothing till I tell you. Then, I want you 
to make a full confession to her.” 

“I will, Lord Bountiful. And I would do it 
were it a thousand times harder. I deserve a 
heavy penance. I should be whipped; and in¬ 
stead I am getting nothing but love and kind¬ 
ness.” Here Marie fell to weeping softly. 

“There is a way of working out one’s forgive¬ 
ness other than by severe penance,” said the 
Colonel; “and that way is love. Love begins at 
home, it embraces the whole family and it ends 
with God.” 

The cab stopped at this moment; and Lord 
Bountiful, taking Joe by the waist, lifted him 
bodily out. They were gone for over ten min¬ 
utes. When they returned, Joe was the picture 
of serenity personified. Once the cab had 
started, the youth stretched himself, yawned, 
and under the wondering gaze of the entire party 
fell into blissful slumber. 


END OF AN EVENTFUL DAY 207 


“The boy had no supper,” explained Lord 
Bountiful, “and Joseph is a growing youth. It 
took me ten minutes just now to make away with 
another sandwich; but Joe swallowed three big 
ones, a cup of custard, a plate of ice-cream and 
two slices of apple pie.” 

“So small and yet so capable,” chuckled the 
Colonel. 

It was not quite ten o’clock when the en¬ 
tire party entered the Dowling home. After 
the usual greetings, Mrs. Dowling asked Marie 
whether she had had a nice time. Marie hung 
her head. But Lord Bountiful was quick to 
come to the rescue. 

“Mrs. Dowling,” he said in his booming voice, 
at the sound of which all gave him their atten¬ 
tion, “our little adventures tonight are some¬ 
thing as yet in the nature of a secret. Now I’m 
going to ask you, Mrs. Dowling, and all of you 
here present to do me a favor: please don’t talk 
about our little affair. That applies to you, 
Joe, and to you, Marie. As to the rest of you, 
please, please ask no questions. In good time, 
Mrs. Dowling, Marie will tell you everything.” 

“Your wish shall be respected, Lord Bounti¬ 
ful. I’ll answer for all,” said the mother. 

The Colonel and Lord Bountiful, both ex¬ 
tremely happy over the issue, presently de¬ 
parted. 

“Mother,” said Marie, “did you finish the 
novena?” 

“No, dear; we thought it better to wait for 
you and Joe.” 

“I’m so glad,” said Marie; “I have so much 
to be thankful for.” 


208 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“So have I,” said Joe. 

“What is it, children?” 

Joe and Marie looked at each other meaningly. 

“Remember yonr promise to Lord Bountiful, 
Mother.” 

“Oh, I beg pardon.” 

And the novena came to a fervent ending. All 
were filled with a sense of gratitude; none so 
much as Marie and Joe, both feeling that the 
Little Flower had been with them that evening 
in a very special manner indeed. 

When they arose from their knees, Marie ad¬ 
dressed her mother. “Mother,” she said, “I 
want to propose something.” 

“Fll bet I know,” put in Joe. 

“What is it, dear?” asked the mother, gazing 
into Marie’s face so tender, so pathetic, so sweet. 
What, she asked herself, could have happened to 
her little girl? Marie had once more become as 
those whom we must all become like, if we wish 
to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. 

“It’s this, Mother. The Little Flower has done 
us so many favors during this novena that I 
think we ought to make another novena in 
thanksgiving.” 

“Marie,” said Julia, “you can talk sense, if 
you want to.” 

“You’ve said a mouthful,” added Joe. “I 
knew that was on your mind. If you hadn’t 
asked for it, I would.” 

“It’s the very thing to do,” said Peggy, strok¬ 
ing Marie’s hair. 

“And there’s a special reason for me,” went 
on Marie. “For the last three or four days I 
have acted most foolishly. I’m sorry; and if I 


END OF AN EVENTFUL DAY 209 


have given scandal to Joe and Julia and Frank 
and Eileen, I’m sorry from my heart, and I ask 
pardon of all.” 

Frank, hearing his name mentioned, felt 
highly complimented. “Sure, Marie,” he piped; 
“and let’s make this a great big novena—twenty 
days long, at least.” 

“Very good, children. I am very happy to¬ 
night, and very grateful. Through the Little 
Flower, God has filled our house with blessings. 
We have everything that we need. Let us begin, 
then, tomorrow, a novena—nine days, Frank— 
of thanksgiving. I really don’t know whether 
it would be fair to expect the Little Flower to do 
anything more for us. But we must remember 
the dear little twins, and we may tell the Little 
Flower that if your father is dead, we should like 
to know for sure.” 

“I suppose, Mother,” said Joe, “that all will 
go to Communion tomorrow?” 

“Surely, Joe. And I am going too. My 
strength has come back wonderfully today. In¬ 
deed, I feel stronger now than I did when I was 
working.” 

“Well, then,” said Joe, “Lord Bountiful wants 
us all to pray for him. He thinks that tomorrow 
is going to be his day of danger.” 

“I’ll pray for him all day,” cried Marie, “at 
least, I’ll not forget him from the time I get up 
till I go to bed.” 

They all agreed to remember their friend and 
hero. 


CHAPTER XVIII 

LORD BOUNTIFUL IN A SUPREME MOMENT 

I T was going on toward nine the next evening. 
Lord Bountiful, seated at his special win¬ 
dow, looking out on Baum Street, was, 
through a slight opening made in the window 
curtain, intently watching the window across 
the way. Joe, standing beside him, had his 
admiring eyes fixed upon his hero. 

“By Jove,” muttered the man; “everything is 
turning out as I figured. There’s a gathering 
of the clans tonight.” 

“Is it good news, sir?” asked Joe. 

“So far, my boy, it is all I can desire. I am 
not free to tell you much yet; but I can say 
this much. There are three more men who be¬ 
long to that crowd over there; and I’ve been 
waiting for them all these days. Tonight the 
party is complete. Please God, I hope to be 
able to tell you more in half an hour’s time at 
the latest.—Joe, I want you to do me a favor.” 
“Sure, sir.” 

“Take my place here: keep your eye on that 
window, and let me know when I return whether 
any one comes in or goes out.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Another thing. Try to make out what they 
are doing. I’m going downstairs to send a phone 
message that is very important.” 

210 


A SUPREME MOMENT 


211 


Entering the sitting room, he was greeted by 
all. Marie, Julia, Peggy and Eileen, engaged 
in that innocent and fascinating pastime com¬ 
monly known as five hundred, threw their cards 
on the table and surrounded him. 

“Oh, Lord Bountiful,’’ said Marie. “I’ve been 
praying for you most all of the day.” 

“And we all went to Communion for you this 
morning,” said Julia. 

“And,” added Peggy, “you have a special in¬ 
tention in our new novena.” 

“New novena?” queried Lord Bountiful. 

“Yes; we have just finished one to the Little 
Flower, and she obtained so many wonderful 
favors for us that we are starting another one 
to thank her.” 

Lord Bountiful considered for a moment. 

“By Jove, may I come in on this? May I join 
you in the novena?” 

There was a joyful chorus of assent and ap¬ 
proval. 

“Say, Joe,” cried Eileen, rushing into the 
front room, “Lord Bountiful is going to make 
the novena with us. What do you know about 
that?” 

Joe, his eye glued to the tiny opening, waved 
his little sister away. “Don’t disturb me,” he 
said; “I am engaged on most important busi¬ 
ness.” Eileen retired in good order. 

“At what time do you say the prayers of the 
novena, Mrs. Dowling?” 

“Generally at nine o’clock.” 

“Nine o’clock! That’s the hour when my mind 
always goes back to New York. At that hour, 
my two little ones are at their mother’s knee, 


212 LORD BOUNTIFUL 

and saying ‘God bless papa.’ I love to think of 
them.” 

“I hope,” said Marie, “that theyTl grow up to 
be like their father.” 

“No, Marie; change that. Oh, if they are only 
like their mother! She’s an angel. And me! 
Didn’t you see how ugly I was when—oh, well! 
Another favor, Mrs. Dowling. Would you mind 
saying the novena prayers when I return? I’ll 
be back in a minute. At nine o’clock there ought 
to be important doings, and I want the prayers 
of the novena to start before the trouble begins. 
If everything turns out all right, then the other 
eight days of my novena will be days of thanks¬ 
giving.” 

“It will suit us perfectly, Lord Bountiful. 
And I promise you my children will pray as 
they never did before.” 

“Well, by-by; I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 

They fell to discussing Lord Bountiful, as he 
left their presence, all but Marie, who, excusing 
herself, hastened into the front room. 

“Say, Joe, what are you doing?” 

“Watching,” came the laconic reply. 

“Why not watch and pray, Joe? I’m getting 
nervous about Lord Bountiful. He’s not one 
bit scared, but he looks very solemn. And he 
says that something important is about to hap¬ 
pen. When he says a thing he means it. Joe, 
I’d give my life for him.” 

“That’s all right, Marie. He’s the stuff.” 

“When he comes back, he’s going to begin the 
novena with us, Joe. And after that—after 
that-” 

“Don’t get excited, Marie.” 


A SUPREME MOMENT 


213 


“Well, Pve come in here to pray.” 

“Eire away,” said Joe, who during this con¬ 
versation, his eye glued to the opening, moved 
neither to right nor left. 

So Joe watched and Marie prayed until Lord 
Bountiful’s voice boomed from the sitting room. 

“So far, so good,” he announced. “It is now 
twenty-five minutes to nine. How long do the 
prayers take? Fifteen minutes. Fine! That 
will leave me free at ten minutes before the 
hour.—Hey, Joe, come in. Anything strange or 
startling?” 

“They were having a gassing contest, I 
reckon,” answered Joe. “There were six of 
them, and sometimes all six were talking at the 
same time. What sort of fellows are they, any¬ 
how?” 

“The sort of fellows, Joe, that I don’t want 
you to know. Come on, now, for that novena.” 

“Just right,” said Lord Bountiful as he rose 
from his knees, “and don’t forget me till I come 
back.” Saying which, he hastened into the front 
room, took one look through the opening and 
uttered an exclamation. 

“What’s the matter, Lord Bountiful?” asked 
Joe. 

“Something has happened; they’re packing up 
and getting ready to leave.” 

Lord Bountiful; while thus answering Joe, 
was on his way from the room. Smiling a fare¬ 
well upon the family, he bolted down the stairs. 
Joe, who had resumed his place at the aperture, 
watched him come out on the street, cross it, and 
enter the building the third floor of which he had 
so long watched. 


214 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“Say, Mother,” cried Joe, his eyes dancing 
with excitement, “there’s something gone wrong. 
Let me out for a few minutes. Lord Bountiful 
has gone across the street into that house where 
those queer guys are. There are six of them— 
fierce-looking guys. Maybe if I hang round, I 
may be useful.” 

“Mother, let him go,” pleaded Marie. 

“Be careful, Joe. You may be useful. Go, 
in God’s name.” 

The boy was down the stairs and on the street 
in an unbelievably short time. He glanced 
sharply up and down the street: it was to all 
seeming deserted. Then he turned his eyes upon 
the house of mystery, and caught his breath. 
At the entry way stood a man, a foreigner in 
dress and appearance, a dark man with a shaggy 
untrimmed beard, a man who did not belong 
to Baum Street, but who, to Joe’s eyes, clearly 
seemed to be one of the foreign element whose 
headquarters were in the third floor front. He 
was peering into the house, now stooping for¬ 
ward, now standing upright, and turning his 
gaze up and down and around the street. He 
saw no one—Joe had prudently drawn back into 
a doorway—and, finally, satisfied that the coast 
was clear—crept on stealthy foot into the house. 

Joe promptly hurried across and gazed in. The 
suspicious man was tip-toeing noiselessly, care¬ 
fully up the stairway. Joe waited till he had 
ascended the last step leading to the second 
floor; he waited till the man walking along the 
passageway turned upward on the flight leading 
to the third floor. Then he followed, quicker- 
footed, but equally noiseless. 


A SUPBEME MOMENT 


215 


Lord Bountiful, unconscious of all this, was 
waiting outside the room he had so long watched, 
his left hand on the door knob, his right thrust 
into his hip pocket. It was seven minutes to 
nine; and the men he had called on the phone 
twenty minutes before, the five men headed by 
our friend Bates were to be on hand at nine 
sharp. The very important question with Lord 
Bountiful was, “Will these fellows in here who 
were packing up so feverishly a moment ago, 
start to leave before nine? If they do leave, the 
whole thing, as far as I am concerned, is a fail¬ 
ure. But, by Jove,” and as he thus meditated, 
he clinched his jaws and threw out his chin, 
“if they do leave, they will have to walk over 
me.” And so, ear close to the door, one hand 
in his hip pocket, the other on the knob, Lord 
Bountiful waited. There was a dead silence 
without, hardly broken by the whisperings of 
the men within; a dead silence, in no wise dis¬ 
turbed by the strange man of the unkempt beard, 
stepping softly up the stairway, coming nearer 
and nearer each moment to the unconscious Lord 
Bountiful; a dead silence that weighed heavily 
upon Joe standing helplessly at the foot of the 
second landing, and tempted sorely to scream at 
the top of his voice. But he checked the desire; 
for Joe knew something of Lord BountifuFs 
methods. Always there was to be no publicity. 

The bearded man, Joe surmised—and right¬ 
fully—was a look-out for the men upstairs. 
Strange that he gave no alarm. Possibly he, 
too, wanted to avoid publicity. 

And there in the dim light thrown by a miser¬ 
able, smoking oil lamp, situated on a bracket in 


216 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


a niche on the second floor, Joe with agonized 
eyes, while chills went up and down his spine, 
watched the man move up step after step. Three 
steps were left; two steps. Then the man 
paused, drew out a knife and held it glittering 
in the rays of the lamp. 

There were two steps more and beyond a dis¬ 
tance of about four feet from the landing to the 
spot where stood Lord Bountiful listening in¬ 
tently, holding himself in the same attitude, and 
unconscious of the savage man almost upon him 
and of the frightened boy who stood irresolute 
below. 

Joe could not make up his mind. But the 
question was settled without his coming to a 
decision. The man above took another step. 
Without any volition of his own, Joe suddenly 
opened his mouth, and sent forth the words, 

“Cheese it!” 

Quick as a flash, Lord Bountiful turned, his 
one hand still on the knob; quick as a flash 
there came forth his right hand holding a pistol; 
and while the foreigner sprang on him knife in 
air, down came the pistol on the uplifted wrist, 
down clattered the knife to the stair, and as 
Lord Bountiful turned the door-knob, he kicked 
the would-be assassin—and that one kick was 
enough to send him rolling down the stairs. 
Lord Bountiful, as Joe happened to know, had 
made special studies on the question of wasted 
motions. In this crisis, he showed that the study 
with him was not purely academic; it was a very 
practical thing indeed. The kick, the turning 
of the knob, the opening of the door, his raised 
pistol at full-cock covering those inside as he 


A SUPREME MOMENT 


217 


turned with the kick, and roared “Hands up!” 
were all events that followed one the other; yet 
followed so closely that they seemed to Joe to 
be synchronous. As Joe thus wondered at the 
speed-marvel above, down the stairs bumped the 
unfortunate look-out. He landed stunned at the 
boy’s feet. He was not unconscious, only dazed. 
In a moment he would be himself again. Joe, 
gazing at him in a study, slipped his hands into 
his pockets—a lucky gesture. There was a cord 
for spinning tops in one of these, and the feel 
of that cord gave Joe his inspiration. While 
the prostrate man was blinking his eyes and 
showing signs of consciousness, Joe tied his 
hands together with one end of the cord and 
fastened the other end to the stout newel post 
of the stairway, in which operation he was 
watched with wonder and admiration by a num¬ 
ber of tenants, women and children whose heads 
popped out of partially opened doors, and pres¬ 
ently popped in again. For they had been 
roused by Joe’s cry, by the fracas above, by the 
noise on the staircase, and above all by the boom 
of Lord Bountiful’s voice when he roared, 
“Hands up!” 

But that booming voice accomplished far more 
than the arousing of sleepers—women and chil¬ 
dren and a few helpless old men, the younger 
ones, as it happened, being down town. It struck 
terror into the six men who, loaded with valises 
and parcels, had just made a start for the door, 
when Joe’s shrill voice halted them momentarily 
in their tracks. At Lord Bountiful’s command, 
each one put down his packages carefully—so 
carefully that Lord Bountiful could hardly re- 


218 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


press a smile—and threw up his hands with 
military precision and obedience. 

“Don’t dare to move/’ continued Lord Bounti¬ 
ful. “And don’t open your mouths. Here— 
you over there, you Petrovich—get out in line 
with the others; no skulking.” 

The six captives contented themselves with 
gazing earnestly, fearfully, at the big man, who 
looked as cool and collected as though he were 
a skilled officer drilling his company. 

Two or three minutes passed. Lord Bounti¬ 
ful’s quick ear detected a slight commotion be¬ 
low. 

“That you, Joe?” he called out, his eyes cover¬ 
ing the six, his pistol full-cocked. 

“No, sir; it’s the guy you kicked down the 
stairs. I’ve got him tied, sir, and he’s a-kicking 
at me.” 

Lord Bountiful was in a bad way for a mo¬ 
ment. He could hardly refrain from smiling, 
yet to do so might encourage one or the other 
of his captives to spring on him. 

“What’s this, Joe?” came a high clear voice 
from below. 

Mr. Patrick McCann, father of eight children, 
three of whom, the older boys, were begging 
their mother with tears in their eyes to let them 
out to see the fun, had come up the stairs— 
Patrick, who rarely sought a fight, but never 
shunned one. 

“He’s trying to kick me, sir.” 

“For the love o’ Mike,” said Pat, “where did 
you discover that specimen of tropical whisk¬ 
ers?” As Pat spoke, he caught the kicking foot 
of the subject of his criticism, giving it a twist 


A SUPREME MOMENT 219 

which ended further demonstrations from that 
quarter. 

“He sneaked up after Lord Bountiful/’ ex¬ 
plained Joe, “and he tried to stick a knife in 
him; but he wasn’t quick enough, and Lord 
Bountiful planted a kick that sent him down 
here. Then I tied him while he was getting 
ready to get up.” 

“Where’s Lord Bountiful?” 

“He’s up there with a gun and six guys holdin’ 
up their hands.” 

“Hey! Lord Bountiful,” yelled Pat, “don’t 
you worry; I’ll be up in a minute. There’s a 
crowd outside. I’m going out to get them.” 
Patrick McCann, while delivering himself of 
those good tidings, whipped out a knife, cut 
the cord in several places, and catching the dis¬ 
comfited prisoner by the shoulders, continued 
the work which Lord Bountiful had begun. Ar¬ 
rived at the stairway leading to the ground 
floor, Mr. McCann ceased to kick; it is a difficult 
process going downstairs anyhow; a good shak¬ 
ing was substituted. 

“Here, boys,” yelled Pat, as with one final 
kick he brought the howling look-out through the 
doorway, “hold this fellow, two of you, and 
the rest of you come upstairs: Lord Bountiful 
is managing six of those cut-throats on the third 
floor all by himself.” 

Two pairs of eager and willing hands relieved 
Pat of his victim; and six stalwarts out of the 
crowd lined up preparatory to ascending the 
stairs. They were about to enter the house, 
when some one shouted. 

“Look!” 


220 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


Up the steps from Kilgour came running at 
full speed at least twelve men—plain clothes 
men, as the lookers-on shortly learned—up they 
came, and turning sharply made toward the 
house. 

“Hurry!” yelled Pat to the foremost. “He’s 
holding them by himself—six of them.” 

One of the newcomers, while the others rushed 
up the stairs, took charge of the look-out: hand¬ 
cuffs, put on him at once, made the task easy. 
Then Joe, radiant and exuberant, came out and 
shook hands with Pat. As they stood, chuckling 
and comparing notes, down came the plain¬ 
clothes men with their handcuffed prisoners. 
After them all, smiling, joyous, debonair, issued 
Lord Bountiful. 

“Say, boys,” he said. “I’ve bungled this affair. 
It: should have been done quietly. There’s a 
patrol waiting below to take them off. Now, 
please, don’t let the newspapers get it. I am 
asking this for the good of the country!” 

“Anything you say, Lord Bountiful, goes,” 
said Pat. 

“Sure!” said another. 

“Thank you, boys. Here, Pat, take this bill, 
and tomorrow treat every child on the street, 
from sixteen down, to ice-cream and cake. Come 
on, Joe.” 

Joe took his hand. 

“Lieutenant Casey,” Joe heard Pat say to the 
leader of the plain-clothes men, “in the name of 
goodness, who is the man we call ‘Lord Bounti¬ 
ful’?” 

“It’s no longer a secret; his work is just done,” 
answered the lieutenant. 


A SUPREME MOMENT 221 

Joe, hearing this, slipped his hold from his 
hero’s grasp and hurried back. 

“Lord Bountiful,” said the lieutenant, “is 
Paul F. Gamble.” 

“Yes?” said Pat with the note of inquiry. 

“The police of New York are the most wonder¬ 
ful in the world.” 

“Yes?” 

“And the bomb squad are the best, the bold¬ 
est, the most fearless of the New York police.” 

“Yes?” 

“And Paul F. Gamble is the best, the boldest, 
the most fearless of the bomb squad.” 

“Glory halleluiah,” yelled Joe, and rushed to 
catch the trusty hand of the best, the boldest, 
the most fearless police officer in the world. 


CHAPTER XIX 


JOE AND MARIE GO TO NEW YORK 

“CJay, Joe/’ said Louis Davico the next morn- 
liO ing, as the two, having served the Sunday 
six o’clock Mass, received Holy Commun¬ 
ion and finished their thanksgiving, were leaving 
St. Xavier’s church, “what do you think? I 
got my check for five hundred dollars last night 
by special delivery.” 

“You did?” 

“Yes; and I turned it right over to my father; 
and you ought to see his eyes bulge, and Mother 
cried, and when I told Dad that he could do what 
he wanted with it, he hugged me. He said that 
an Italian friend of his wanted him to come in 
as a partner to buy a fruit stand on Third Street. 
It was a paying business; but Dad would have 
to pay three hundred cash. Dad went right out 
—after I had endorsed the check, and came back 
in half an hour: and now he’s in business ” 
“Quick action,” laughed Joe. 

“Yes; and he brought back two hundred dol¬ 
lars in bills. And he gave Mother one hundred 
dollars. And she cried some more, and hugged 
Dad, and Dad hugged me. And then he gave 
me five dollars to spend as I pleased! and to¬ 
morrow, he’s going to get me a suit of clothes 
and anything I want. Then mother dug out a 
bottle of fine Italian wine that she had been 
saving up since the day of their wedding, and 
we all had a drink. Say, it was some party.” 

222 


TO NEW YORK 


223 


Here Louis paused at the corner of Sixth 
and Sycamore to improvise a few gay dancing 
steps. 

“Then Mother told Dad how well I had acted 
ever since you and I made up, Joe. And she 
said that ever since I had joined the acolytes 
and the Fenwick Gym, I had given her no 
trouble. And then Dad said he was proud of me. 
Then Dad got up and sang Santa Lucia, and 
Mother sang, and we all sang; and all my 
brothers and sisters joined in. We kept it up 
till twelve o’clock, and then Dad said he wanted 
to go to bed because he intended to go to Mass 
this morning. Say, what do you know about 
that? And when Dad said that, Mother began 
to cry, and said it was her happiest day since 
she got married. By George, Joe, I feel like a 
morning star.” 

After suitable comments on these joyful tid¬ 
ings, Joe proceeded to narrate the events of the 
last evening in the third floor front. 

“And what did Lord Bountiful arrest them 
for?” 

“He doesn’t want it published, Louie; but it 
was the most dangerous nest of anarchists that 
ever got together outside of New York and 
Chicago. They had their plans laid to blow up 
certain public buildings in Cincinnati, Dayton, 
and other cities. And Paul F. Gamble caught 
them with the goods. It’s a clean-up. And he 
says I saved his life; and all I did was to say 
‘Cheese it’.” 

Nothing of any importance happened on Mon¬ 
day and Tuesday. Nor did Wednesday give 


224 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


promise of any development. Marie won the 
admiration of all at this time by her sweetness, 
her amiability, and her self-sacrifice. Mrs. 
Dowling, released from all manner of work, 
grew stronger each day, and thanked God, who 
had blessed her with such Avonderf ul little house¬ 
keepers, Julia and Marie. These two vied with 
each other in cleaning and cooking, and leaving 
nothing undone to make their apartment a model 
home. 

On Wednesday evening, Louis was their visi¬ 
tor. 

“Say!” he exclaimed, looking about the sitting 
room. “You people are fixing up, aren’t you? 
Gee! I like the Avay you’re doing it. The room 
looks spick and span.” 

“They’re all going to look like that when we 
get through,” said Marie, younger in appearance 
and manner by two years than when she was 
first introduced to the reader. “And we’re do¬ 
ing it, Julia and I, out of Joe’s money. The 
other four hundred dollars came yesterday— 
and Joe wouldn’t take one cent.” 

“Neither would Marie,” said Joe, “nor Julia. 
They’re both getting too good for this world.” 

“Oh, we have our little rows,” drawled Julia. 

“Yes, little rows,” assented Marie, amiability 
itself. “And the reason they are little is because 
Julia keeps her temper so well.” 

Julia made denial; Marie insisted. Presently, 
the two became very excited. Their voices rose 
when Joe interposed: 

“Aren’t they sweet!” he exclaimed. “They’re 
fighting now just to show us how they never 
lose their temper.” 


TO NEW YORK 225 

“Look here, Mrs. Dowling,” said Louis, “Ma 
wants me to tell you something.” 

“I hope it is something good, Louis.” 

“It’s bully, ma’am. She says that Dad is doing 
splendidly in his business. He says it’s a sure 
thing, and she says that I’m going to have it a 
lot easier.” 

“How so?” 

“Well, you know, since our talk with the 
Colonel I have organized the family. Did Joe 
tell you what the Colonel said?” 

“Yes,” came the answer. 

“Well, I did all I could to make it easy for 
Mother. And it worked! She began to pick up. 
And she thinks I’m another Joe Dowling.” 

“Cut it out,” growled the blushing Joe. 

“But now with her hundred dollars, she’s go¬ 
ing to have some help; the business is sure to 
pay. Tomorrow she’s going to take in an Italian 
girl of eighteen who is a distant relation of hers; 
and Mother’s work will be cut in two.” 

“I think,” said Julia, “that the Little Flower 
has had her eye upon your family, Louis, ever 
since you and Joe made up.” 

“I know it,” said Louis. “Joe told us about 
your first novena; and we started in one day 
after you—all except Dad. He hadn’t been to 
church for ten years. But he’s going now. And 
he’s joined in with us in making the novena of 
thanksgiving.” 

“No wonder your mother’s happy,” said Mrs. 
Dowling. 

“Oh, she is; she smiles so easily now. And 
she sings while she works. She thinks that all 


226 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


those fine things have happened through Joe and 
me getting together.” 

At this moment, there was a jolly tapping at 
the door. 

Lord Bountiful it was, smiling, laughing, ra¬ 
diant. His presence filled the room with sun¬ 
shine. 

“Ye Dowling family one and all, I come bring¬ 
ing news.” 

“Tell us, tell us, Lord Bountiful.” 

“Tomorrow noon I go to New York.” 

Marie’s lovely smile vanished. Julia’s jaw 
fell. Joe and Louis and Peggy groaned; Frank 
and Eileen rushed to his side and catching him 
by the arms showed by actions, if not by words, 
that they were going to hold the giant by main 
force. 

“But I’m coming back soon.” 

How their faces changed at the welcome news. 
While Frank and Eileen jumped into his arms 
and laid their innocent heads upon his breast, 
Marie impulsively leaped forward and kissed 
him in such wise that Joe said: 

“Don’t make so much noise, Marie; you are 
disturbing the peace.” 

“But,” continued the hero of the house, “I’m 
in trouble.” 

All looked troubled. 

“The fact is, I’m afraid to travel alone.” 

This remark apparently, judging by the laugh¬ 
ter it evoked, was the funniest thing the Dow¬ 
lings had ever heard. 

“I need Joe to protect me, to be my body¬ 
guard.” 

Joe stared and scratched his head. 

“What are you giving us?” he inquired. 


TO NEW YORK 227 

“Why,” continued Lord Bountiful, “he saved 
my life twice. He might do it again.” 

“Do you mean it?” asked the boy, with con¬ 
cern. 

Lord Bountiful laughed loud and long. 

“Well, the fact is that there’s no question of 
danger. But there’s a bunch of the bomb squad 
—the best fellows in the world—and they are 
all worked up about Joe. They want to see him. 
Just now they are having a day or two off. On 
Saturday they’re going to give the whole day 
to Joe and myself. Joe is to be the guest of 
honor. He is their guest from the time he leaves 
Cincinnati tomorrow noon till he returns.” 

“Say, Mother,” cried Joe, “won’t you please 
let me go?” 

“I’ll get his things ready,” exclaimed Marie. 

“No! I will,” cried Julia. 

The two young ladies argued the question 
until they were both quite vexed. 

“You want to run the house,” said Julia. 

“I’m older than you, and more experienced,” 
retorted Marie. 

“It will be three or four days at the most, 
Mrs. Dowling,” pleaded Lord Bountiful. “And 
besides, I have a special reason. I want my 
wife and children to see him and thank him. 
They know how he saved me twice.” 

“That was all luck,” objected Joe. 

“No,” said Marie: “it was all love. Joe loved 
you so much, Lord Bountiful, that he just fol¬ 
lowed you up both times. He was there through 
love when you needed him.” 

“Marie,” observed Julia, “is growing very 
wise.” 


228 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


“Since you ask it, Lord Bountiful,” said the 
mother, “I cannot refuse.” 

“Whoop!” cried Joe, pounding Louis. 

“Whoop!” returned Louis, returning the atten¬ 
tion. 

“One more favor, Mrs. Dowling; Joe is the 
guest of the squad. Now, I want as my guests 
Marie and Julia.” 

While Mrs. Dowling and Lord Bountiful de¬ 
bated this question at length, Marie and Julia 
entered into a whispered discussion. Gradually 
their voices grew higher; their tempers mounted; 
they grew angry. 

“I won’t go,” declared Julia. 

“You will,” cried Marie resolutely. 

“Children, how rude!” exclaimed the mother. 
“Julia, I am ashamed of you.” 

“It’s this way, Mother,” explained Julia. “We 
both agree that one of us must stay with you. 
I’m the regular housekeeper, and it’s my right 
to stay with you.” 

“I’m the older; it’s my right,” protested Marie. 

The mother was at a loss to decide. 

“I’ll tell you what,” said Lord Bountiful. 
“Suppose we settle it this way. I want to have 
a good talk with Marie, and there’s another rea¬ 
son, too. But next time, Mrs. Dowling, Julia 
will be my guest.” 

Marie, overflowing with happiness, apologized 
and embraced her sister; then danced about the 
room like a fairy whose mission it was to dis¬ 
pense happiness. 

At noon next day, Thursday, Joe and Marie 
and Lord Bountiful, the happiest travelers in 
the United States, left for New York. 


CHAPTER XX 


A SHOWER OF ROSES 

T he good Colonel, out of his store of postal 
picture cards, books and stationery, selected 
for Joe a vest-pocket memorandum book 
and induced the innocent youth to promise there¬ 
in to write a daily record of his trip. Of course, 
Joe promised with the easy alacrity of a boy who 
has never attempted to keep a diary. 

Thus he began: 

“Thursday .... Our dinner on the 
Pullman diner was swell. I know it because I 
ate too much. Marie was very nice. She and 
Lord Bountiful talked about nothing but his 
wife and the two children. I wanted him to tell 
me about anarchists, but he didn’t seem to be 
interested. We passed lots of fields of corn and 
wheat and things like that. I never thought the 
world was that way—all green fields and trees, 
and only now and then a bunch of houses. Our 
supper was swell; but I did not eat so much. 
I did not feel like it. 

“It is now nine o’clock at night and the car 
we are in is all full of folding beds. The nigger 
—an awful nice guy—is opening them out. They 
are over the heads, and he unhooks them and 
lets them down, and they are two-story beds. 
They call the second story bed an upper berth. 
There’s a big curtain parted in the middle that 
229 


230 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


comes down over both stories. It is snug and 
funny. It is useful to travel. I have learned 
very much. Before going to bed, Lord Bounti¬ 
ful got that nigger to let us get into a cubby¬ 
hole that they call a state-room, and we went 
in there and made our novena—the sixth day— 
and Marie said the prayers. I tell you, Marie 
can pray to beat the band when she puts her 
mind to it. She’s been very nice all day. 

“She was so nice that every one on our Pull¬ 
man fell dead in love with her. She stood it 
pretty well, too! You know how she is. She 
never could stand prosperity. She did begin 
making eyes at people, and Lord Bountiful 
looked at her nervous-like. That took all the 
starch out of her, and she began to be awful 
nice again. Those prayers finished her up. 
While she said them, she looked like a saint— 
that’s the way her voice sounded, too. After 
prayers, she told Lord Bountiful she was sorry 
for acting smart, and he whispered something 
in her ear, and she colored and looked awfully 
pleased and kissed him and me good night. 
Marie had the lower berth and I was in the 
upper. Lord Bountiful had an upper next to 
mine. 

“Friday morning. Breakfast was swell. I 
ate lots and would have eaten more only Marie 
called me down. We all slept well. Did you 
ever eat grape fruit? My piece squirted on me; 
but it was dandy . . 

“New York is a very big city. It is full of 
Jews. Also it is full of Italians. It is very full 
of travelers. Lots of people born in the United 
States live here, too. Lord Bountiful says you 


A SHOWER OF ROSES 


231 


will find them on Wall Street. Marie thinks 
that Lord Bountiful’s wife is lovely, and that 
the two children are lovely. She said a lot like 
that, and Lord Bountiful got all lit up and 
kissed her after his wife got through and took 
her out and bought her a ring with a green stone 
in it. Then we drove out and saw a lot of the 
town in a taxi—that is, I did. Marie spent all 
her time in looking at that ring. Lord Bounti¬ 
ful got me a pair of roller skates. But I didn’t 
take them along the way Marie did her ring. 
So I saw a lot. There is no end of skyscrapers 
here and the people you see are in a hurry. 
We called in at police headquarters, and we all 
saw Lord Bountiful’s bunch. They are the nicest 
men I ever saw. They made a lot of me; and 
they were awful nice to Marie, who took it good. 

“I don’t think either of us got swelled up. . . . 

“It is now ten o’clock and I’m dead tired. 
Sorry I made that promise to the Colonel. We 
went to a show. It was swell. Tomorrow we’re 
going to Long Branch with the squad to take 
a shore dinner. I will take a light breakfast 
tomorrow. Lord Bountiful is excited about 
something. He . . .” 

It later developed that Joe fell asleep over his 
diary. He wrote no more, for reasons which 
will presently be set before the reader. 

On Saturday night, Mrs. Dowling and the chil¬ 
dren finished the novena. After it, they fell to 
talking of Joe and Marie and Lord Bountiful. 
They were quite subdued. The gayety of for¬ 
mer nights was gone. 

“There’s one thing, anyhow,” said Julia. “I’ll 
be nice to them when they come back. Now I 


232 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


know how I love them. Say, if they stay away 
much longer, I don’t know what I’ll do.” 

“It’s the first time,” said the mother, “that 
they have ever been away from us over night.” 

There came a rap at the door. 

“Maybe it’s Joe and Marie,” cried Frank. 

“Or the Little Flower,” suggested Eileen. 

Without further knocking, a messenger boy 
walked in. 

“For Mrs. Mary Dowling,” he announced, 
holding up a telegram. 

Mrs. Dowling took the telegram and, while 
Peggy signed for it, tore open the envelope. 

“Oh, my children!” she cried. “Listen to this. 
It’s from Joe. 

“ ‘This evening Marie and I went to a ward in a 
hospital. Father was there. He knew us. He is get¬ 
ting well. Letter will follow. 

“ ‘Joe.’ ” 

Mrs. Dowling laughed and cried. Peggy and 
Julia, Eileen and Frank were foolish with joy. 
The unexpected had happened—and just at the 
end of the novena. There was little sleeping in 
the Dowling family that night. The older girls 
joined with their mother in prayers of thanks, 
speculated on the events which had led up to 
the finding of their father, and dwelt with happy 
yet with intent surmise upon the promised letter. 

On the morrow, Mrs. Dowling, Peggy and 
Julia attended the five o’clock Mass, and return¬ 
ing, breakfasted, and at once set about looking 
over their apartment with sharp and critical 
eves. Seek as they might, everything was in 


A SHOWER OF ROSES 233 

order. One would think that the long-lost father 
was to arrive at any moment. 

A few minutes after eight, while Eileen and 
Francis were attending the children’s Mass, 
there arrived a night letter. 

It was from Marie: 

“Dear Mother —[it read]—Joe has sent you the 
great news. Bountiful has had detectives on the look¬ 
out for father ever since Joe went swimming. He sent 
three of father’s photographs. They found him the 
day we started for New York, but were not sure. 
Father had gone into German ground after a sniper. 
He got lost. Was captured. Escaped, and in escaping 
received a blow on the head which deprived him of 
memory. He never will know how he got back to New 
York and into the hospital. This morning he changed 
for the better. He had been so bad the day before that 
Bountiful waited a day before bringing us. This after¬ 
noon at four, he brought us to the ward in a big 
hospital. He stood at the door and told us to go in. 
Joe saw him at once. Father knew him and he knew 
me. He was so glad. We were with him half an hour. 
He got better all the time. We were all crazy with 
joy. Father sends you all love. The nurse told us 
when we left, that father’s sudden change was astound¬ 
ing, and that he got better so fast while we were with 
him that it looked like a miracle. Joe and I know it 
was the Little Flower. We are coming back as soon 
as they will let father travel. 

“Marie.” 

On Monday morning, just as the family were 
sitting down to an early breakfast, there was 
heard a great commotion outside—the honking 
of an automobile, laughing voices, and, presently, 
loud cheering. 


234 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


Julia was first to gain the window. 

“Oh, Mother! Quick! It’s Father and Joe and 
Marie and Lord Bountiful—and everybody on 
the street is cheering.” 

But Mrs. Dowling, followed by the other chil¬ 
dren, was hurrying down the stairway, and as 
John Dowling, pale, weak but shining with hap¬ 
piness, helped from the machine and supported 
by Lord Bountiful, stepped to the threshold, she 
threw herself into his arms in wordless emotion. 

How the party, laughing, shaking hands, ex¬ 
changing words of love and welcome, ever got 
up the stairs is beyond the power of pen. There 
was joy and festivity in the home, joy and fes¬ 
tivity on the street. Somehow, in the midst of 
it all, John Dowling contrived to let his wife 
know how bitterly he regretted his conduct on 
his last day before leaving home; how he had 
done penance and vowed and pledged repara¬ 
tion should he ever be restored to his family. 
Never, never would he make the same horrible 
mistake. 

At nine o’clock, Lord Bountiful left them to 
discuss all the haps and mishaps which had oc¬ 
curred in the long months of separation. 

Their happiness grew with the speeding mo¬ 
ments. Mr. Dowling himself could not suffici¬ 
ently express his wonder at the growth and de¬ 
velopment of the children. 

“I feel,” he said humbly, “as if I were not 
needed. Joe is a boy any father might be proud 
of; Julia and Peggy are looking so strong and 
are so good; and Marie has improved so that I 
cannot believe my eyes.” 

“Yes,” explained Julia. “But some one took 


A SHOWER OF ROSES 235 

your place. That was Lord Bountiful. And 
some one helped him: that was the Little 
Flower.” 

“Mother,” whispered Marie, at this moment. 
“You remember the night Joe and I were out 
with Lord Bountiful?” 

“Perfectly, my dear.” 

“Lord Bountiful says that I can tell you now. 
Come with me, Mother. I want to get it off my 
soul forever.” 

Into the quiet room in the rear the two went. 
Despite her mother’s protests, Marie kneeled at 
the good woman’s feet, as she had knelt on the 
night before her first Communion. She looked 
and spoke, too, as on that night. Extenuating 
nothing, omitting no detail, Marie in the great 
simplicity of love and humility told the story of 
her exceeding vanity and foolishness. 

“And now, Mother,” she asked at the end, 
“can you forgive me? Can you trust me ever 
again?” 

And Mrs. Dowling bending down seized the 
girl in her arms and pressed her to her bosom. 

“Dearest!” she cried in tones rich with emo¬ 
tion, “who knows but you were allowed to go 
so far as you did that your eyes might be opened? 
I have seen the change. We have all seen it. 
Trust you! I trust you now as I never hoped to 
trust you; and I am sure that you are going to 
be all that I hoped on the day when a little child 
I saw you walking from the Communion rail.” 

“Oh, Mother! I am so happy. I did not know 
that one could be so happy in this world. Let 
me stay here alone for a few moments.” 

As Mrs. Dowling returned to the family group, 


236 


LORD BOUNTIFUL 


there arose another hnbbnb on the street—cheer¬ 
ing, shouts, and cries. There followed a great 
noise outside, the noise of a man running up 
the stairs, the unceremonious banging of the 
door, and there on the threshold the great Lord 
Bountiful, breathless, laughing, choking, in his 
arms two beautiful little children, laughing and 
crowing and stretching out loving arms to all 
within. 

“The twins!” cried Joe. 

And the twins it was, back home for good, back 
home the love and longing for which they had 
never lost. 

“Julia,” said Lord Bountiful. “I’ve seen the 
Colonel. He knows all about your father’s old 
place of employment. The Colonel is quick to 
act. He had them up on the phone at once; and 
he says that just as soon as your father is strong 
enough, his old position is open at a bigger sal¬ 
ary, and a promise of advancement.” 

“Lord Bountiful, you are a wonder. You must 
have been brought up in marble halls.” 

“I was brought up,” he grinned, “in Hell’s 
Kitchen. The one thing that helped me, after 
my parents, was my religion. By the way,” he 
added, glancing around, “do you know that I 
should not be surprised if the Little Flower were 
right here amongst us? That’s the way I feel.” 

“The Little Flower is here, Lord Bountiful,” 
put in Frank, who had overheard the words as 
he drew near. “Come on, I’ll show you.” 

Frank with an air of importance led the way 
to the back room, with Julia holding one hand, 
Lord Bountiful the other. 

“Look!” he said, pointing triumphantly at a 


A SHOWER OF ROSES 


237 


picture hung up over the mantel. It was that 
of the Little Flower on the day of her first Com¬ 
munion. 

But his two companions had no eyes for the 
portrait. For kneeling beneath it, the tears 
streaming down her face, love, gratitude, sup¬ 
plication on every feature, was Marie, her love¬ 
liness touched and refined by living faith and 
fervent love. 

As they stood spellbound, gazing upon this 
apparition of beauty, in the room without, a 
messenger entered bearing a bouquet of Ameri¬ 
can Beauties. 

Mrs. Dowling picked out a perfect rose, and 
hastened to bring it before the picture of the 
Little Flower. 

As she moved through the room, a wonderful 
fragrance filled the air. Holding the rose in her 
hand, she paused on seeing the group standing 
enwrapt at the doorway. Quietly she stole up, 
and looking in she saw—was it a vision? Was 
there a light playing upon Marie’s lovely fea¬ 
tures? As she stood in wonder, there breathed 
through the room a rich fragrance. 

“The Little Flower,” she said, “is here.” 


THE END 


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CHARACTERISTICS AND RELIG¬ 
ION OF MODERN SOCIALISM. 
Ming, S.J. x2mo, net, $2.50, 


CHILD PREPARED FOR FIRST 
COMMUNION. Zulueta, Pap., ’$0.08. 

CHRISTIAN APOLOGETICS. De- 
vivter-Messher. net, $3.50. 

CHRISTIAN EDUCATION. O’Con¬ 
nell. net, $i.00. 

CHRISTIAN FATHER. Cramer, net, 
So. 85. 

CHRISTIAN MOTHER. Cramer, net, 
$0.85* 

CHURCH AND THE PROBLEMS 
OF TODAY, THE. Schmidt, net, 
$1.50. 

CORRECT THING FOR CATH¬ 
OLICS. Bugg. tiet, Si. 25. 

DIVINE GRACE. Wirth. net, $0.85. 

EDUCATION OF OUR GIRLS. 
Shields, net. Si. 50. 

EXPLANATION OF BIBLE HIS¬ 
TORY. Nash, net, S2.50. 

EXPLAN ATION OF CATHOLIC 
MORALS. Stapleton, net, $0.85. 

EXPLANATION OF THE BALTI¬ 
MORE CATECHISM. Kinkead. 
net, lfSi.25. 

EXPLANATION OF THE COM¬ 
MANDMENTS. Roleus. net, $0.90. 

EXPLANATION OF THE CREED. 
Roleus. net, S0.90. 

EXPLANATION OF GOSPELS AND 
OF CATHOLIC WORSHIP. Lam- 
bert-Brennan. Paper, $0.25; cloth, 
net, $0.85. 

EXPLANATION OF THE MASS. 
Cochem. net, $0.85. 

EXPLANATION OF THE HOLY SAC¬ 
RAMENTS. Rolfus. net, S0.90. 

o-h-os 


1 


EXPLANATION OF THE PRAYERS 
AND CEREMONIES OF THE 
MASS. Lanslots, O.S.B. net, $0.85. 

EXPLANATION OF THE SALVE 
REGINA. St. Alphonsus. net, $1.25. 

EXTREME UNCTION. Paper, *$0.12. 

FOLLOWING OF CHRIST, THE. 
Plain edition. With reflections. $0.50 

FOUNDATION OF TRUE MORAL¬ 
ITY. Slater, S.J. net, $1.25. 

FUNDAMENTALS OF THE RELIG¬ 
IOUS LIFE. SCHLEUTER, S.J. »,$0.7S. 

FUTURE LIFE, THE. Sasia, S. J. net, 
$ 3 - 00 . 

GENERAL CONFESSION MADE 
EASY. Konings, C.SS.R. Cloth, 
*$0.25. 

GENTLEMAN, A. Egan, net, $1.25. 

GIFT OF THE KING. By a Religious. 
net, $0.60. 

GLORIES AND TRIUMPHS OF THE 
CATHOLIC CHURCH, net, $3.50. 

GOD, CHRIST, AND THE CHURCH. 
Hammer, O.F.M. net, $3.50. 

GOFFINE’S DEVOUT INSTRUC¬ 
TIONS ON THE EPISTLES AND 
GOSPELS FOR THE SUNDAYS 
AND HOLY-DAYS, net, $1.75. 

GREAT ENCYCLICAL LETTERS OF 
POPE LEO XIII. net, $3.50. 

GUIDE FOR SACRISTANS, net, $1.50. 

HANDBOOK OF THE CHRISTIAN 
RELIGION. Wilmers, S.J. n, ^[$2.50. 

HEAVEN OPEN TO SOULS. Semple, 
S.J. net, $2.75. 

HOME WORLD, THE. Doyle, S.J. 
Paper, $0.25; cloth, net, $1.25. 

HOW TO COMFORT THE SICK. 
Krebs, C.SS.R. net, $0.85. 

HOW TO MAKE THE MISSION. By 
a Dominican Father. Paper, *$0.12. 

INSTRUCTIONS ON THE COM¬ 
MANDMENTS OF GOD AND 
THE SACRAMENTS OF THE 
CHURCH. Sx. Alphonsus Liguori. 
net, $0.85. 

INTRODUCTION TO A DEVOUT 
LIFE. Sx. Francis de Sales, net, 
$1.00. 

LADY, A. Bugg. net, $1.25. 

LAWS OF'THE KING. By a Religious. 
net, $0.60. 

LESSONS OF THE SAVIOUR. By a 
Religious, net, $0.60. 

LITTLE ALTAR BOY’S MANUAL. 

MANUAL OF SELF-KNOWLEDGE 
AND CHRISTIAN PERFECTION, 
A. Henry, C.SS.R. net, $0.75. 

MANUAL OF THEOLOGY FOR THE 


LAITY. Geiermann, C.SS.R. Paper, 
*$0.45; cloth, net, $0.90. 

MASS AND VESTMENTS OF THE 
CATHOLIC CHURCH. Walsh, net, 
$ 3 -°°. 

MASS-SERVER’S CARD. Per doz. 
net, $0.50. 

MORALITY OF MODERN SOCIAL¬ 
ISM. Ming, S.J. net, $2.50. 

NARROW WAY, THE. Geiermann, 
C.SS.R. net, $0.90. 

OUT TO WIN. Straight Talks to Boys 
on the Way to Manhood. Conroy, 
S.J. net, $1.50. 

PRINCIPAL CATHOLIC PRAC¬ 
TICES. Schmedx. net, $1.50. 

QUEEN’S FESTIVALS, THE. By a 
Religious, net, $0.60. 

REASONABLENESS OF CATHOLIC 
CEREMONIES AND PRACTICES. 
Burke, net, $0.75. 

RELIGIOUS STATE, THE. Sx. Al¬ 
phonsus. net. $0.75. 

SACRAMENTALS OF THE HOLY 
CATHOLIC CHURCH. Lambing. 
Paper, $0.25; Cloth, net, $0.85. 

SCAPULAR MEDAL. THE. Geier. 
mann, C.SS.R. Paper, *$0.08. 

SHORT CONFERENCES ON THE 
SACRED HEART. Brinkmeyer. 
net, $0.85. 

SHORT COURSE IN CATHOLIC 
DOCTRINE. Paper, *$0.12. 

SHORT STORIES ON CHRISTIAN 
DOCTRINE, net, $1.75. 

SOCIALISM: ITS THEORETICAL 
BASIS AND PRACTICAL APPLI¬ 
CATION. Caxhrein - Geixelman. 
net, $2.75. 

SOCIAL ORGANIZATION IN PAR¬ 
ISHES. Garesche' S. J. net, $2.75. 

SPIRITUAL PEPPER AND SALT. 
Sxang. Paper, *$0.45; cloth, net, $0.90. 

STORIES OF THE MIRACLES OF 
OUR LORD. By a Religious. n,$ 0.60. 

STORY OF THE FRIENDS OF JESUS. 
By a Religious, net, $0.60. 

SUNDAY-SCHOOL DIRECTOR’S 
GUIDE. Sloan, net, $1.50. 

SUNDAY-SCHOOL TEACHER’S 
GUIDE. Sloan, net, $1.25. 

SURE WAY TO A HAPPY MAR¬ 
RIAGE. Taylor, net, $0.85. 

TALKS TO NURSES. Spalding, S.J. 
net, $1.50. 

TALKS TO PARENTS. Conroy, S.J. 
net , $1.50. 

TALKS WITH THE LITTLE ONES 
ABOUT THE APOSTLES’ CREED. 
By a Religious, net, $0.60. 


2 


TRAINING OF CHILDREN AND OF 
GIRLS IN THEIR TEENS. Cecilia. 
net , $1.25. 

TRUE POLITENESS. Demore. net , 
$1.25. 

VOCATION. Van Tricht-Connief. 
Paper, *$0.12. 


VOCATIONS EXPLAINED. Cut flush, 

*$O.I2. 

WAY OF INTERIOR PEACE. 

Lehen, S.J. net , $2.25. 

WHAT TPIE CHURCH TEACHES. 
Drury. Paper, *$0.45; cloth, net , 
$0.90. 


II. DEVOTION, MEDITATION, SPIRITUAL READING, 
PRAYER-BOOKS 


ABANDONMENT; or Absolute Sur¬ 
render of Self to Divine Providence. 
Caussade, S.J. net , $0.75. 
ADORATION OF THE BLESSED 
SACRAMENT. Tesniere. net ,$ 0.85. 
BLESSED SACRAMENT BOOK. 
Prayer-Book by Father Lasance. 
Im. leather. $2.25. 

BLOSSOMS OF THE CROSS. Giehrl. 
net , $1. 75 - 

BOOK OF THE PROFESSED. 3 vols. 
Each, net , $1.25 

BREAD OF LIFE, THE. William. 
net , $1.35. 

CATHOLIC GIRL’S GUIDE, THE. 
Prayer-Book by Father Lasance. 
Seal grain cloth, stiff covers, red edges, 
$1.25. Im. leather, limp, red edges, 
$1.50; gold edges, $2.00. Real leather, 
limp, gold edges, $2.50. 
CHARACTERISTICS OF TRUE DE¬ 
VOTION. Grou, S.J. net , $1.00. 
DEVOTION TO THE SACRED 
HEART OF JESUS. Nolden, S.J. 
net , $1.75. 

DEVOTIONS AND PRAYERS BY 
ST. ALPHONSUS. Ward, net , $1.50. 
DEVOTIONS AND PRAYERS FOR 
THE SICK ROOM. Krebs. «,$o.8s. 
DEVOTIONS TO THE SACRED 
HEART FOR THE FIRST FRIDAY 
OF EVERY MONTH. Huguet. 
net , $0.75. 

DOMINICAN MISSION BOOK. By a 
Dominican Father. $1.00. 
EPITOME OF THE PRIESTLY 
LIFE, AN. Arvisenet.-O’Sulli¬ 
van. net , $2.50. 

EUCHARISTIC SOUL ELEVATIONS. 

Stadelman, C.S.Sp. net , $0.60. 
FAIREST FLOWER OF PARADISE. 

Lepicier, O.S.M. net , $1.50. 

FIRST SPIRITUAL AID TO THE 
SICK. McGrath, net , $0.60. 
FLOWERS OF THE CLOISTER. 

Poems, de La Motte. net , $i- 75 - 
FOR FREQUENT COMMUNICANTS. 
Roche, S.J. Paper, *0.12. 


GLORIES OF MARY. St. Alphon- 
sus. net , $ 1 . 75 . 

GLORIES OF THE SACRED HEART. 

Hausherr S.J. net , $ 1.75. 
GREETINGS TO THE CHRIST- 
CHILD. Poems, net , $1.00. 

HELP FOR THE POOR SOULS. 

Ackermann. $0.90. 

HELPS TO A SPIRITUAL LIFE. 

Schneider, net , $0.85. 

HIDDEN TREASURE, THE. St. 

Leonard, net , $ 0 . 75 . 

HOLY HOUR, THE. Keiley. i6mo, 

*$O.I2. 

HOLY HOUR OF ADORATION. 
Stang. net , $0.90. 

HOLY SOULS BOOK. Reflections on 
Purgatory. A Complete Prayer-Book. 
By Rev. F. X. Lasance. Imitation 
leather, round comers, red edges, 
$1.50; gold edges, $2.00; real leather, 
gold edges, $2.75; Turkey Morocco, 
limp, gold roll, $4.00. 

HOLY VIATICUM OF LIFE AS OF 
DEATH. Dever. net , $1.25. 
IMITATION OF THE SACRED 
HEART. Arnoudt. net , $1.75. 

IN HEAVEN WE KNOW OUR OWN. 

Blot, S.J. net , $0.75. 

INTERIOR OF JESUS AND MARY. 

Grou, S.J. 2 vols. net . $3.00. 
JESUS CHRIST, THE KING OF OUR 
HEARTS. Lepicier, O.S.M. net , 

LIFE’S LESSONS. C-aresche, S.J. 
net , $1.25. 

LITTLE ALTAR BOYS’ MANUAL. 

LITTLE COMMUNICANTS’ 
PRAYER-BOOK. Sloan. $0.25. 
LITTLE MANUAL OF ST AN¬ 
THONY. Lasance. net , $0.25. 
LITTLE MANUAL OF ST. JOSEPH. 
Lings, net , $0.25. 

LITTLE MANUAL OF ST. RITA. 
McGrath. $0.90. 

LITTLE MASS BOOK, THE. Lynch. 
Paper, *$0.08. 


5 


LITTLE MONTH OF THE SOULS IN 
PURGATORY, net, $0.60. 

LITTLE OFFICE OF THE BLESSED 
VIRGIN MARY. In Lat.-Eng, net, 
$1.50; in Latin only, net, $1.25. 

LITTLE OFFICE OF THE IMMAC¬ 
ULATE CONCEPTION. Pap.,*$0.08. 

MANNA OF THE SOUL. Vest-pocket 
Edition. A little Book of Prayer for 
Men and Women. By Rev. F. X. 
Lasance, Oblong, 32010. $0.50. 

MANNA OF THE SOUL. A Book of 
Prayer for Men and Women. By 
Rev. F. X. Lasance. Extra Large 
Type Edition, 544 pages, i6mo. $1.50. 

MANNA OF THE SOUL. Prayer- 
Book by Rev. F. X. Lasance. Thin 
Edition. Im. leather. $i.xo. 

MANNA OF THE SOUL. Prayer-Book. 
By Rev. F. X. Lasance. Thin Edition 
with Epistles and Gospels. $1.50. 

MANUAL OF THE HOLY EUCHAR¬ 
IST. Lasance. Imitation leather, 
liraD, red edges net, $1.25- 

MANUAL OF THE HOLY NAME, 

MANUAL OF THE SACRED HEART, 
NEW, ft.50. 

MANUAL OF ST. ANTHONY, n,%o.o Q . 

MARINE COROLLA. Poems. Hill, 
C.P. net, $1.75. 

MARY, HELP OF CHRISTIANS. 
Hammer, O.F.M., net, $3.50. 

MASS DEVOTIONS AND READINGS 
ON THE MASS. Lasance. Im. 
leather, limp, red edges, net, $1.25 

MEANS OF GRACE. Brennan, net , 
$5.00. 

MEDITATIONS FOR ALL THE DAYS 
OF THE YEAR. Hamon, S.S. 5 
vols., net, $8.75. 

MEDITATIONS FOR EVERY DAY IN 
THE MONTH. Nepvetj, SJ. n,$o. 85. 

MEDITATIONS FOR EVERY DAY 
IN THE YEAR. Baxter, S.J. net, 
$2.00 

MEDITATIONS FOR EVERY DAY 
IN THE YEAR ON THE LIFE OF 
OUR LORD Vercruysse, S.J. 2 
vols. net, $4.50. „ 

MEDITATIONS FOR THE USE 
OF THE SECULAR CLERGY. 
Chaignon, S.T. 2 vols. net, $7.00. 

MEDITATIONS ON THE LIFE, 
THE TEACHING AND THE 
PASSION OF JESUS CHRIST. 
Ilg-Clarke. 2 vols. net, $5.00. 

MEDITATIONS ON THE MYSTER¬ 
IES OF OUR HOLY FAITH. 
BarrATJD, S.J. 2 vols., net, $ 4 -So. 


MEDITATIONS ON THE PASSION 
OF OUR LORD, net, $0.85. 

MEDITATIONS ON THE SUFFER¬ 
INGS OF JESUS CHRIST. Per- 
inaldo. net, $0.85. 

MISSION-BOOK OF THE REDEMP- 
TORIST FATHERS. $0.90. 

MISSION BOOK FOR THE MAR¬ 
RIED. Girardey, C.SS.R. $9.90. 

MISSION BOOK FOR THE SINGLE. 
Girardey, C.SS.R. $0.90. 

MISSION REMEMBRANCE OF THE 
REDEMPTORIST FATHERS. 
Geiermann, C.SS.R. $0.90. 

MOMENTS BEFORE THE TABER¬ 
NACLE. Russell, S.J. net, $0.60. 

MORE SHORT SPIRITUAL READ¬ 
INGS FOR MARY’S CHILDREN. 
Cecilia, net, $0.85. 

MOST BELOVED WOMAN, THE. 
Garesche, S.J. net, $1.25. 

MY GOD AND MY ALL. A Prayer- 
book for Children. By Rev. F. X. 
Lasance. Black or white, cloth,square 
corners, white edges, retail, $0.35. 
Imit. leather, black or white, seal 
grain, gold edges, retail, $0.70. Persian 
Morocco, gold side and edges, retail, 
$1.25. Same, white leather, retail, 
$1.50. Celluloid, retail, $1.00; with 
Indulgence Cross, retail, $1.35. 

MY PRAYER-BOOK. Happiness in 
Goodness. Reflections, Counsels, 
Prayers, and Devotions. By Rev. 
F. X. Lasance. i6mo. Seal grain 
cloth, stiff covers, $1.25. Imitation 
leather, limp, round corners, red edges, 
$1.50; gold edges, $2.00. Real Leather, 
gold edges, $2.50. 

NEW MISSAL FOR EVERY DAY, 
THE. Complete Missal in English 
for Every Day in the Year. With 
Introduction Notes, and a Book of 
Prayer. By Rev. F. X. Lasance. 
Oblong, 32mo., Im. leather. $2.25. 

NEW 7 TESTAMENT, nmo edition. 
Large type. Cloth, net, $1.75; 32mo 
edition. Flexible net, $0.45; cloth, 
net, $0.80; Amer. seal, net, $1.35. 

NEW TESTAMENT AND PRAYER- 
BOOK COMBINED, net, $0.85. 

OFFICE OF HOLY WEEK, COM¬ 
PLETE. Latin and English. Cut 
flush, net, $0.40; silk cloth, net, $0.60; 
Am. seal, red edges, net, $1.25. 

OUR FAVORITE DEVOTIONS. 
Lings, net, $1.00. 

OUR FAVORITE NOVENAS. Lings. 
net, $1.00. 


4 


OUTLINE MEDITATIONS. Cecilia 
net, $1.75. 

PATHS OF GOODNESS, THE. Ga* 
resche, S.J. net, $1.25. 

POCKET PRAYER-BOOK. Cloth. 
net. So.25. 

POLICEMEN’S AND FIREMEN’S 
COMPANION. McGrath. $0.35. 
PRAYER-BOOK FOR RELIGIOUS. 
Lasance. i6mo. Imitation leather, 
limp, red edges, net, S2.00. 

PRAYERS FOR OUR DEAD. Mc¬ 
Grath. Cloth, $0.35; im. lea., $0.75. 
PRISONER OF LOVE. Prayer-Book 
by Father Lasance. Im. leather, 
limp, red edges, Sr.50. 

PRIVATE RETREAT FOR RELIG¬ 
IOUS. Geiermann,C.SS.R. Kei.S2.50. 
REFLECTIONS FOR RELIGIOUS. 

Lasance. net, $2.00. 

REJOICE IN THE LORD. Prayer- 
Book by Father Lasance. Si.75. 
ROSARY, THE CROWN OF MARY. 

Dominican Father. i6mo, nap., *$0.12. 
RULES OF LIFE FOR THE PASTOR 
OF SOULS. Slater-Rauch. net, 

SACRED HEART BOOK. Prayer- 
Book by Father Lasance. Im. 
leather, limp, red edges, Si.25. 
SACRED HEART STUDIED IN THE 
SACRED SCRIPTURES. Sain- 
train. net, $0.85. 

SACRIFICE OF THE MASS WORTH¬ 
ILY CELEBRATED. Chaignon, 
S.J. net, $2.75. 

SECRET OF SANCTITY. Crasset, 
S.J. net, $0.85. 

SERAPHIC GUIDE, THE. Si. 00. 
SHORT MEDITATIONS FOR EVERY 
DAY. Lasausse. net, $0.85. 
SHORT VISITS TO THE BLESSED 
SACRAMENT. Lasance. net, $0.25. 
SODALIST’S VADE MECUM, net, 
$0.90. 

SOLDIERS’ AND SAILORS’ COM¬ 
PANION. McGrath. _ Vest-pocket 
shape, silk cloth or khaki. $0.35. 
SOUVENIR OF THE NOVITIATE. 

Taylor, net, $0.85. 

SPIRIT OF SACRIFICE, THE, AND 
THE LIFE OF SACRIFICE IN 
THE RELIGIOUS STATE. Giraud. 
net , $3.00. 

SPIRITUAL CONSIDERATIONS. 

Buckler, O.P. net, $0.85. 

SPOILING THE DIVINE FEAST. 
dis Zulueta, S.J. Paper, *$0.08. 


STORIES FOR FIRST COMMUNI¬ 
CANTS. Keller, net. $0.60. 
SUNDAY MISSAL, THE. Lasance. 

Im. leather, limp, red edges, $1.5*. 
THINGS IMMORTAL, THE. Ga¬ 
resche, S.J. net, $1.25. 

THOUGHTS ON THE RELIGIOUS 
LIFE. Lasance. Im. leather, limp, 
red edges, net, $2.00.. 

THOUGHTS AND AFFECTIONS ON 
THE PASSION OF JESUS CHRIST 
FOR EVERY DAY OF THE YEAR. 
Bergamo, net, $3.25. 

TRUE SPOUSE OF CHRIST. Liguoki 
net, $1.75. 

VALUES EVERLASTING, THE 
Garesche, S. J. net, $1.25. 
VENERATION OF THE BLESSED 
VIRGIN. Rohner-Brennan. net, 
$0.85. 

VIGIL HOUR, THE. Ryan, S.J. 
P^pcr 12 

VISIT'S TO JESUS IN THE TABER¬ 
NACLE. Lasance. Im. leather, limp, 
red edges, $1.75. 

VISITS TO THE MOST HOLY SAC¬ 
RAMENT. Liguori. net, $0.90. 

WAY OF THE CROSS. Paper, *$0.08. 
WAY OF THE CROSS. Illustrated. 
Method of St. Alphonsus Liguori. 
*$0.15. 

WAY OF THE CROSS, THE. 
Very large-type edition. Method of Sx. 
Alphonsus Liguori. *$0.20. 

WAY OF THE CROSS. Eucharistic 
method. *$0.15. 

WAY OF THE CROSS. By a Jesuit 
Father. *$0.25. 

WAY OF THE CROSS. Method of Sx. 

Francis of Assisi. *$0.15. 

WITH GOD. Prayer-Book by Faxher 
Lasance. Im. leather, limp, red edges, 

$1.75. 

YOUNG MAN’S GUIDE, THE. 
Prayer-Book by Faxher Lasance. 
Seal grain cloth, stiff covers, red edges, 
$1.25. Im. leather, limp, red edges, 
$1.50; gold edges, $2.00. 

YOUR INTERESTS ETERNAL. 

Garesche', S.T. net, $1.25. 

YOUR NEIGHBOR AND YOU. Ga¬ 
resche, S.T. net, $1.25. , 

YOUR OWN HEART. Garesche, S.J. 
net, $1.25. 

YOUR ^SOUL’S SALVATION. 
Garesche, S.J. net, $1.25. 


S 


OUR OWN ST. RITA. Corcoran, 
O.S.A. net, $1.50. 

PATRON SAINTS FOR CATHOLIC 
YOUTH. By M. E. Mannix. Each 
life separately in attractive colored 
paper cover with illustration on front 
cover. Each 10 cents postpaid; per 
25 copies, assorted, net, $i. 7 S- per 100 
copies, assorted, net, $6.75. Sold only 
in packages containing 5 copies of 
one title. 

For Boys: St. Joseph; St. Al«ysius; 
St. Anthony; St. Bernard; St. 
Martin; St. Michael; St. Francis 
Xavier; St. Patrick; St. Charles; 
St. Philip. 

The above can be had bound in 1 vol¬ 
ume, cloth, net, $i.eo. 

For Girls: St. Ann; St. Agnes; St. 
Teresa; St. Rose of Lima; St. 
Cecilia; St. Helena; St. Bridget; 
St. Catherine; St. Elizabeth; St. 
Margaret. 

The above can be had bound in 1 vol¬ 
ume, cloth, net, $1.00. 

PICTORIAL LIVES OF THE SAINTS. 
With nearly 400 illustrations and over 
600 pages, net, $5.00. 

POPULAR LIFE OF ST. TERESA. 

L’abbe Joseph, net, $0.85. 
PRINCIPLES, ORIGIN AND ESTAB¬ 
LISHMENT OF THE CATHOLIC 
SCHOOL SYSTEM IN THE UNITED 
STATES. Burns, C.S.C. net, $2.50. 


RAMBLES IN CATHOLIC LANDS. 

Barrett, O.S.B. Illustrated. »,$3.50. 
ROMA. Pagan Subterranean and Mod¬ 
ern Rome in Word and Picture. By 
Rev. Albert Kuhn, O.S.B , D.D. 
Preface by Cardinal Gibbons. 6x7 
pages. 744 illustrations. 48. full-page 
inserts, 3 plans of Rome in colors. 
83 x i2 inches. Red im. leather, gold 
side, net, $12.00. 

ROMAN CURIA AS IT NOW EXISTS. 

Martin, S.J. net, $2.50. 

ST. ANTHONY. Ward, net, $0.85. 
ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI. Dubois, 
S.M. net, $0.85. 

ST. JOAN OF ARC. Lynch, S.J. Illus¬ 
trated. net , $2.75. 

ST. JOHN BERCHMANS. De- 
lehaye, S.J.— Semple, S.J. net, $1.50. 
SAINTS AND PLACES. By John 
Ayscough. Illustrated, net, $3.00. 
SHORT LIVES OF THE SAINTS. 

Donnelly, net, $0.90. 

STORY OF THE DIVINE CHILD. 

Told for Children. Lings, net, $0.60. 
STORY OF THE ACTS OF THE 
APOSTLES. Lynch, S.J. Illus¬ 
trated. net, $2.75. 

WOMEN OF CATHOLICITY. Sad- 
lier. net, $0.85. 

WONDER STORY, THE. Taggart. 
Illustrated. Board covers, net, $0.25; 
per 100, $22.50. Also an edition in 
French and Polish at same prices. 


VI. JUVENILES 


FATHER FINN’S BOOKS. 

Each, net, $1.00. 

ON THE RUN. 

BOBBY IN MOVIELAND. 
FACING DANGER. 

HIS LUCKIEST YEAR. A Sequel to 
“ Lucky Bob.” 

LUCKY BOB. 

PERCY WYNN; OR, MAKING A 
BOY OF HIM. 

TOM PLAYFAIR; OR, MAKING A 
START. 

CLAUDE LIGHTFOOT; OR, HOW 
THE PROBLEM WAS SOLVED. 
HARRY DEE; OR, WORKING IT 
OUT. 

ETHELRED PRESTON; OR, THE 
ADVENTURES OF A NEW¬ 
COMER. 

THE BEST FOOT FORWARD; 

AND OTHER STORIES. 

“ BUT THY LOVE AND THY 
GRACE.” 


CUPID OF CAMPION. 

THAT FOOTBALL GAME, AND 
WHAT CAME OF IT. 

THE FAIRY OF THE SNOWS. 

THAT OFFICE BOY. 

HIS FIRST AND LAST APPEAR¬ 
ANCE. 

MOSTLY BOYS. SHORT STORIES. 

FATHER SPALDING’S BOOKS. 
Each, net, $1.00. 

SIGNALS FROM THE BAY TREE. 

HELD IN THE EVERGLADES. 

AT THE FOOT OF THE SAND¬ 
HILLS. 

THE CAVE BY THE BEECH 
FORK. 

THE SHERIFF OF THE BEECH 
FORK. 

THE CAMP BY COPPER RIVER. 

THE RACE FOR COPPER ISLAND. 

THE MARKS OF THE BEAR 
CLAWS. 


8 


THE OLD MILL ON THE WITH- 
ROSE. 

THE SUGAR CAMP AND AFTER. 
ADVENTURE WITHTHE APACHES. 

Ferry, net, $0.60. 

ALTHEA. Nirdlinger. net, $0.85. 
AS GOLD IN THE FURNACE. 

Copus, S.J. net, $1.25. 

AS TRUE AS GOLD. Mannix. net, 
$0.60. 

AT THE FOOT OF THE SAND¬ 
HILLS. Spalding, S J. net, $1.00. 
BELL FOUNDRY. Schaching, net, 
$0.60. 

BERKLEYS, THE. Wight, net, $0.60. 
BEST FOOT FORWARD, THE. Finn, 
S.J. net, $1.00. 

BETWEEN FRIENDS. Aumerle. 
net, $0.85. 

BISTOURI. Melandri. net, $0.60. 
BLISSYLVANIA POST-OFFICE. 

Taggart, net, $0.60. 

BOBBY IN MOVIELAND. Finn, S.J. 
net, $1.00. 

BOB O’LINK. Waggaman. net, $0.60. 
BROWNIE AND I. Aumerle. #*,$0.85. 
BUNT AND BILL. Mulholland. 
net, $0.60. 

“BUT THY LOVE AND THY 
GRACE.” Finn, S.J. net, $1.00. 
BY BRANS COME RIVER. Taggart. 
net, $0.60. 

CAMP BY COPPER RIVER. Spald¬ 
ing, S.J. net, $1.00. 

CAPTAIN TED. Waggaman. n,$ 1.25. 
CAVE BY THE BEECH FORK. 

Spalding, S.J. net, $1.00. 
CHILDREN OF CUPA. Manndc. net, 
$0.60. 

CHILDREN OF THE LOG CABIN. 

Delamare. net, $0.85. 

CLARE LORAINE. “ Lee.” n, $0.85. 
CLAUDE LIGHTFOOT. Finn, S.J. 
net, $ 1.00. 

COBRA ISLAND. Boyton, S.J. net, 
$ 1 . 15 - 

CUPA REVISITED. Mannix. net, 
$0.60. 

CUPID OF CAMPION. Finn, S.J. 
net, $1.00. 

DADDY DAN. Waggaman. net, 
$0.60. 

DEAR FRIENDS. Nirdlinger. net, 
$0.85. 

DIMPLING’S SUCCESS. Mulhol¬ 
land. net, $0.60. 

ETHELRED PRESTON. Finn, S.J. 
net, $1.00. 

EVERY-DAY GIRL, AN. Crowley. 
net, $0.60. 


FACING DANGER. Finn, S.J. net, 
$1.00. 

FAIRY OF THE SNOWS. Finn, S.J. 
net, $i.og. 

FINDING OF TONY. Waggaman. 
net, $1.25. 

FIVE BIRDS IN A NEST. Delamare. 
net, $0.85. 

FIVE O’CLOCK STORIES. By a 
Religious, net, $0.85. 

FLOWER OF THE FLOCK. Egan. 
net, $1.25. 

FOR THE WHITE ROSE. Hinkson. 
net, $0.60. 

FRED’S LITTLE DAUGHTER. 
Smith, net, $0.60. 

FREDDY CARR’S ADVENTURES. 

Garrold, S.J. net, $0.85. 

FREDDY CARR AND HIS FRIENDS. 

Garrold, S.J. net, $0.85. 

GOLDEN LILY, THE. Hinkson. net, 
$0.60. 

GREAT CAPTAIN, THE. Hinkson. 
net, $0.60. 

HALDEMAN CHILDREN, THE. 

Mannix. net, $0.60. 

HARMONY FLATS. Whitmire, net, 
$0.85. 

HARRY DEE. Finn, S.J. net, $1.00. 
HARRY RUSSELL. Copus, S.J. net, 
$1.25. 

HEIR OF DREAMS, AN. O’Malley. 
net, $0.60. 

HELD IN THE EVERGLADES. 

Spalding, S.J. net, $1.00. 

HIS FIRST AND LAST APPEAR¬ 
ANCE. Finn, S.J. net, $1.00. 

HIS LUCKIEST YEAR. Finn, S.J. 
net, $1.00. 

HOSTAGE OF WAR, A. Bonesteel. 
net, $0.60. 

HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. 
Egan, net, $0.85. 

IN QUEST OF ADVENTURE. Man¬ 
nix. net, $0.60. 

IN QUEST OF THE GOLDEN 
CHEST. Barton, net, $0.85. 
JACK. By a Religious, H.C.J. net, $0.60. 
JACK-O’LANTERN. Waggaman. 
net, $0.60. 

JACK HILDRETH ON THE NILE. 

Taggart, net, $0.85. 

JUNIORS OF ST. BEDE’S. Bryson. 
net, $0.85. 

JUVENILE ROUND TABLE. First 
Series, net, $0.8?. 

JUVENILE ROUND TABLE. Second 
Series, net, $0.85. 

KLONDIKE PICNIC, A. Donnelly. 
net, $0.85. 


9 


LIGHT ON THE LAGOON, THE 
Clarke, net , $2.00. 

“LIKE UNTO A MERCHANT.” 
Gray, net , $2.00. 

LITTLE CARDINAL. Parr. *,$1.65. 

LOVE OF BROTHERS. Hinkson. net , 
$2.00. 

MARCELLA GRACE. Mulholland. 
net , $0.85. 

MARIE OF THE HOUSE D’ANTERS. 
Earls, S.J. net , $2.00. 

MARIQUITA. Ayscough. net , $2.00. 

MELCHIOR OF BOSTON. Earls, 
S.J. net , $0.85. 

MIGHTY FRIEND, THE. L’Ermite. 
net , $2.00. 

MIRROR OF SHALOTT. Benson. 
net , $2.00. 

MISS ERIN. Francis, net , $0.85. 

MR. BILLY BUTTONS. Lecky. net , 
$1.65. 

MONK’S PARDON, THE. de Nav- 
ery. net , $0.85. 

MY LADY BEATRICE. Cooke, net , 
$0.85. 

NOT A JUDGMENT. Keon. net , 
$1.65. 

ONLY ANNE. Clarke, net , $2.00. 

OTHER MISS LISLE. Martin, net , 
$0.85. 

OUT OF BONDAGE. Holt, net , 
$0.85. 

OUTLAW OF CAMARGUE. deLa- 
mothe. net , $0.85. 

PASSING SHADOWS. Yorke. net , 
$1.65. 

PERE MONNIER’S WARD. Lecky. 
net , $1.65. 

POTTER’S HOUSE, THE. Clarke. 
net , $2.00. 

PRISONERS’ YEARS. Clarke, net , 
$2.00. 

PRODIGAL’S DAUGHTER, THE, 
AND OTHER STORIES. Btigg. 
net , $1.50. 

PROPHET’S WIFE. Browne, net , 

rId 2 INN OF ST. LYPHAR. Sad- 
lier. net , $0.85. 

REST HOUSE, THE. Clarke, net , 
$2.00. 

ROSE OF THE WORLD. Martin. 
net , $0.85. 

ROUND TABLE OF AMERICAN 
CATHOLIC NOVELISTS. net ,$ 0 . 85 . 

ROUND TABLE OF FRENCH CATH¬ 
OLIC NOVELISTS, net , $0.85. 

ROUND TABLE OF GERMAN 
CATHOLIC NOVELISTS. net ,$ 0.8s. 

ROUND TABLE OF IRISH AND 


ENGLISH CATHOLIC NOVEL* 
ISTS. net , $0.85. 

RUBY CROSS, THE. Wallace, net 
$0.85. 

RULER OF THE KINGDOM. Keon. 
net , $1.65. 

SECRET CITADEL, TFIE. Clarke. 
net , $2.00. 

SECRET OF THE GREEN VASE. 
Cooke, net , $0.85. 

SHADOW OF EVERSLEIGH. Lans- 
downe. net , $0.85. 

SHIELD OF SILENCE. Henry-Rue- 
fin. net , $2.00. 

SO AS BY FIRE. Connor, net , $0.85. 

SON OF SIRO, THE. Copes, S.J. 
net , $2.00. 

STORY OF CECILIA, THE. Hlnkson. 
net , $1.65. 

STUORE. Earls, S.J. net , $1.50. 

TEMPEST OF THE HEART. Gray. 
net , $0.85. 

TEST OF COURAGE. Ross, net , $0.85. 

THAT MAN’S DAUGHTER. Ross. 
net , $0.85. 

THEIR CHOICE. Skinner, net , $0.85. 

THROUGH THE DESERT. Slen- 
kiewicz. net , $2.00. 

TIDEWAY, THE. Ayscough. «,$2.oo. 

TRESSIDER’S SISTER. Clarke. 
net , $2.00. 

TRUE STORY OF MASTER 
GERARD. Sadlier. net , $1.65. 

TURN OF THE TIDE, THE. Gray. 
net , $0.85. 

UNBIDDEN GUEST, THE. Cookf. 
net , $0.85. 

UNDER THE CEDARS AND THE 
STARS. Canon Sheehan, net , $2.00. 

UNRAVELLING OF A TANGLE, 
THE. Taggart, net , $1.25. 

UP IN ARDMUIRLAND. Barrett, 
O.S.B. net , $1.65. 

URSULA FINCH. Clarke, net , $ 2 . 00. 

VOCATION OF EDWARD CONWAY, 
THE. Egan, net , $1.65. 

WARGRAVE TRUST, THE. Reid. 
net , $1.65. 

WAR MOTHERS. Poems. Garesche' 
S.J. net , $0.60. 

WAY THAT LED BEYOND, THE. 
Harrison, net , $0.85. 

WEDDING BELLS OF GLENDA- 
LOUGH.THE. Earls, S.J. «.$ 2 .oo. 

WHEN LOVE IS STRONG. Keon. 
net , $1.65. 

WHOSE NAME IS LEGION. Clarke. 
net , $2.00. 

WOMAN OF FORTUNE, A. Reid. 
net , $1.65. 


13 















































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